


Infant Joy

by Cassia_Bea



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Dante is tiny and deadly, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Protectiveness, Vergil is born first yall, in which the twins are not twins... you get the point, look look Vergil is gonna have feelings, we gonna have both fun and sadness bois
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27149908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassia_Bea/pseuds/Cassia_Bea
Summary: Where everything is the same and not the same.Vergil was born alone and is only eight years old when he meets Dante.
Relationships: Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Eva/Sparda (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Vergil held the bundle in his arms and only stared.

The tiny thing sniffled and slightly wriggling to show when he was uncomfortable by the way Vergil was cradling him. Still red and smelled heavily of baby powder. His tiny mouth parted slightly; eyes flickering opened at times.

His mother, Eva, rested tiredly against the pillows. Her hand was on Vergil’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb in circles. Sparda was nowhere to be seen, opting to finish his business with the small group of a midwife and her helpers as to have them emptying the house as soon as possible. It was a fickle matter, tinged with a matter of trust and magic oaths about the birth of the Dark Knight’s descendants.

The firstborn of the Sparda hadn’t known how to feel about the birth of a new one. Months leading up to Eva’s labor were troubled and full of tension. A sinking feeling and unease plagued him enough to make him undecided regarding the baby. He even resorted to childish rage, lashing out at the wooden dummy with his swords until both splintered. His father had only sighed when he looked upon his son’s heaving breaths and stained shirt. Emotions and turmoil overwhelmed him at times, making him bunched up in the bed, eyes never straying from the room across his even with the doors closed.

Now though, after everything was set and done, Vergil could only do so much as to look at the newborn.

His arms immediately tensed when Eva had gently pulled his hand forward. Placing his new sibling with a stern movement.

Vergil had only seen human babies in books and paintings. Not knowing many people outside his own family. From what he had read, babies were loud and messy, but humans seemed to coo and indulge them. It costed blood, sweat, and tears to bring them to the world, even something as close to death.

Eva was blissfully spared that fate. Vergil wouldn’t know what he would do if she were.

The bundle moved, slowly opening his eyes, and Vergil’s world stuttered.

Human babies were loud and messy, and Vergil couldn’t imagine them be anything less than an annoyance, but the eyes that looked at him were clear and faultless and so, so _innocent._

Chubby hands twitched, the little digits flexing. The boy couldn’t help but put his finger out. Letting the hand clamped around it reflexively.

“He’s so small,” he whispered. Eva chuckled.

He was tiny and defenseless. An easy target at the world’s mercy.

Dread filled him when it dawned on him that this little being wouldn’t survive even a minute alone. It would be like cracking eggshells.

“Vergil?” His mother’s voice was soft.

Eva’s hand on him became firmer as she turned his face to her, “What’s wrong, my dear?”

He didn’t understand what she meant until he saw his reflection on the nearby window. Oh, since when did he frown so much?

“Nothing, mother,” he shook his head slowly. He adjusted the baby before asking, “What do you and father name him?” Because he remembered the books and scribbled paper around the room when his parents had been deciding what to call the bump in Eva’s stomach.

“His name is Dante,” his mother answered.

“Dante,” he repeated, testing the name on his tongue.

At the mention of the name, the baby suddenly let out a gurgle, eyes flicking to Vergil as if knowing that it was his name all along.

It felt like a _hello._

Vergil settled his sibling (Dante) to more against his chest, his fingers daring to form circles on the soft, spotless skin.

A million and nothing revolved in his head. Feeling like forever and a second went by too fast to explain the deep ache and pull he was having trouble naming.

It was foreign, because nothing that he had known and learned could explain this _thing_ that suddenly bloomed inside his chest. Warmth and ever-present, a flickering candlelight that he would try his damndest to keep alight.

How peculiar it was for such a small creature to burp, cough, and sniffle without a care in a world. Without an ounce of worry or fear in whose hands he was placed into. How fragile and terrifyingly dangerous it would be to leave this tiny thing alone in the world. Under the mercy of humans and demons alike.

How scary and how _precious_ that made his dear baby _brother_ was.

Here he was, right in the arms of Vergil. Looking peaceful and slumbering. Faultless to the pain he had caused just to arrive here in the world. How could he possibly deny safety and warmth to this little brother of his?

This baby brother of his was _perfect_. A precise balance between his mother and father. It was an honor being able to hold him. Even his demon part that only ever saw and sensed worth in strength was elated to feel the blooming warmth.

“He’s beautiful, mother,” Vergil whispered as the glorious epiphany settled itself deep into his soul.

The mother smiled at the look her eldest gave, so naked in all of his expression. She looked to her husband at the door, who breathed a relieved sigh when Vergil’s eyes hadn’t left Dante.

He was too smitten to notice the unspoken conversations his parents had.

When his mother finally passed out from exhaustion and he was steered by his father to the nursery room, he never let go of Dante. The chair was plush and comfortable enough for him to sit for hours with the baby.

His hold never relinquished the rest of the day, longer than when he first had been given Yamato. The faithful katana rested near him, thrumming peacefully.

Dante let out another gurgle and his mouth was like a small flower, yawning, then rested back against his chest. It felt like something of another _hello._

He put his forehead on the baby, then he whispered, “Hello, there, Dante. My precious little brother,” 

Dante sniffled again, then buried his face deeper into the warm bundle.

Vergil was still young, only eight years of age, but he knew that he would cherish and watched over this baby brother of his.

Whatever happened that dawn had twined his heart and settled itself there.

_Kin. Family. To cherish and protect._

In that matter, both the human and demon in him sang in union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea pops in my head when I contemplated Vergil's words in the DMC5:SE trailer. He wondered if their paths would be different had their positions were reversed. While it's an interesting thought to have, I'm thinking that even if it did, Dante and Vergil are very different personality-wise. 
> 
> So, I wonder what if things had been different where Vergil was older and had more time to grow before Dante came?
> 
> I rewrote the whole draft and found that it was unsatisfactory at best. There is a lot of changing and throwing out many ideas, but hey, that's part of the whole creative process. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my fuels and greatly appreciated!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Dante was ten months old when he tried to walk.

His tiny legs wobbled, and his even tinier hands were leaning on the wall as he tried to stand. Vergil was there, already nearing his little brother because his demon was always on the lookout, even when he had his back turned. The first steps were short, hardly making a distance until Dante sat down again. Confused with wide eyes looking at Vergil. He then reached out to him, hands flexing. Familiar with that gesture, Vergil strode across the room.

“Look at you,” he tickled his brother’s stomach, “Already wanting to walk, Dante?” The younger one giggled and held onto Vergil’s shirt more.

They were at the nursery turned playroom. Their parents opted to put both children in one bedroom now that Dante was no longer a baby and would not wake all of them on ungodly hours. Vergil didn’t mind and was content that his little brother would be close by his side. He had made sure to put away everything that wasn’t child-friendly, including Yamato.

The sword was placed inside a glass case, where it could be seen but not touched by Dante. It was a good decision as his little brother seemed mesmerized by her. That couldn’t be helped, Yamato was a beautiful thing. The thrumming strength she exuded even felt by Dante.

There was no telltale sign of even a small flicker he could sense from Dante’s demon half. He wondered briefly as he put Dante down on the play mat. Their father had mentioned how he could already feel Vergil’s demon edging on awareness when he was around Dante’s age, yet Dante felt like a normal human. The smell of not-quite mortality and Eva’s blood prevalent from him.

Vergil shook his head at the implication. His little brother still had ways to grow, and maybe then they could sense it. Even if the suspicion were to be true, Vergil didn’t see anything changing. Dante would still be his little brother, and it didn’t matter at all if they were different in that respect. He was family through and through. Both of his halves were always thrilled and high spirited whenever they held and looked upon Dante. Like he was the balance that Vergil never thought he needed.

The older of the two then heard a clacking from where Dante was hunched over. A familiar object held between his fingers and teeth.

“No, Dante,” he sighed.

Deftly he lifted the necklace from his brother, who had turned to tilt his head as his chewing was abruptly stopped. Vergil wiped the drool off Dante’s half of the amulet with a handkerchief, then moved to place his brother to his lap.

“How many times will you do that? That is not safe,” the toddler wiggled around in his arms. “Dante,” he poked his brother’s cheek, “If you keep on chewing it, I’ll take it away for good.”

Obviously, Dante didn’t understand many words yet, but he recognized the low tone Vergil used and it garnered a reaction. His brother drooped his head and pouted, his hands fiddling with the chain around Vergil’s neck. The gesture was meek and shy, seemingly conveyed the means to feel chastised.

“You know I won’t be taking it for real,” Vergil muttered and he stood up with Dante on his hip, “but you could’ve choked, and I don’t want that,” he pinched Dante’s chubby cheek. The amulet was then stored back into the drawer and locked. Just like everything was nowadays.

Dante liked to explore and open things, much to the amusement and exasperation of Vergil and Eva. It didn’t help that the whole house was filled with furniture and most of them had doors that were low enough for Dante to sneak into. One time, his little brother managed to lock himself and fell asleep until dinner time. The ensuing panic was enough to make Vergil cold sweated. Only finding it in himself to breathe again when Dante moved around the small cabinet to make it rattle.

Dante busied himself playing with Vergil’s own amulet as they walked through the hallway. The chain encircling his neck pulled to the point that he was used to by now. He didn’t quite understand why Dante really liked their mother’s gifts. They were akin to jewellery, hard, and cold, yet his brother found them to be interesting. Always looking wide-eyed and touching as if he didn’t do such many times over.

Vergil felt they were too young to receive his mother’s amulet. He had been unsure when Eva placed them into Vergil’s hands, split into gold and silver with the same ruby-coloured gemstones. His father had gifted them to his mother for a reason. Something that Eva didn’t deem to tell her eldest just yet. Still, Vergil nodded his thanks and promised to keep hold of both until Dante was old enough to be entrusted with the other half.

“Ow, ow, Dante, you’re pulling too hard,” he grabbed his brother’s wrists.

Dante smiled, then squealed when Vergil tickled his sides. His voice light and carefree.

It echoed through the empty house.

They were the only ones home. Eva needing to go into the town in search of ingredients and Sparda went in the morning. That was normal as he was old enough to be left alone with Dante. His mother knew that her eldest would keep a close watch over Dante, along with being careful and smart for a child his age. It was one of the reasons they didn’t have many people at the Sparda residence. Only a handful of maids who spent the mornings cleaning before being dismissed by lunchtime. Besides, Vergil was more at ease when there were fewer people. He sometimes unnerved the poor women when he would literally hover around. Not many could focus on their tasks when a child was standing at your peripheral. Even without the knowledge that he was a half-demon.

His father had needed to remind him that it wouldn’t do to cause such paranoia amongst the people they hired. While it was good that Vergil was aware and alert, learning to discern threats and enemies was also a skill that his demon needed to learn. Eva tried to steer him away when there were guests in the house. Dante wrapped securely in his arms because heavens and hell forbid Vergil ever let Dante out of sight. The husband and wife never truly understood what caused such attachment. They didn’t necessarily disagree, but really, Vergil was a bit too overbearing at times. The eldest of the two though, stubbornly denied being such, opting to reason that Dante was still small and he needed to be there as an older brother. His parents always dropped the matter when he looked at them so openly honest and innocent in his words. As strong as a child who believed an ultimate truth.

The sudden pain to his stomach jolted Vergil as Dante barreled in.

“You are a _menace,_ little brother,” he hissed, holding Dante away by his armpits. “Why do you have to be rough for attention?”

Dante only grinned. His clothes were askew as he had rolled wildly on the carpet to escape Vergil’s previous ‘attacks’.

“Oh, look, you manage to ruin another shirt. Again,” Vergil sighed.

He looked over Dante’s face, lightly sweating and woefully awake. They had been playing for the past two hours now that he glanced at the nearby grandfather clock. The day was getting late and Dante wouldn’t be able to sleep later if he didn’t take a nap right _now._ Why does his brother have to be such an energetic ball?

“We really need to put you to bed,” Vergil muttered while hoisting him up. The manoeuvre made Dante wriggled, trying to get his older brother to let go. He whined, wanting to keep on playing.

“No, Dante,” Vergil said. 

“Verver!” The toddler wriggled some more.

“You’re going to be so tired later that you can’t eat dinner, do you want that?”

“Verver!”

“No, Dante,” Vergil repeated and pulled some pyjamas from the closet when they arrived at their bedroom.

His brother crossed his arms; lips pouted at the realization of naptime. Vergil sighed again, kneeling back on his legs. It was more difficult to change him now since his brother’s sulking was intense. Leaving him would mean that Dante would be uncomfortable, sleeping in the damp shirt. As much as he would like to be stern in this, Vergil ended up offering a deal.

“Okay fine. How about I sleep with you, then?” At the mention of that, Dante lifted his head. “If you change fast and be a good little boy, I’ll stay. How’s that?”

His brother didn’t comprehend most of the words just yet. Again, he was still so young. But he got the gist of what Vergil was telling, the mention of ‘sleep’ and ‘Vergil’ in a sentence was always a good combination in his mind. Dante nodded to show he wanted that and wordlessly lifted his hands so Vergil could put him into fresh clothes.

The older of the two had his arms around the toddler soon after. Keeping him from falling off the bed. Dante made good on the deal as he snuggled up and slowly his eyes drooped. Vergil didn’t move to quicken the process. His brother’s breaths eventually came in soft snores, face relaxed into slumber. Having Vergil near him was an automatic switch to dreamland. Vergil wasn’t quite sure why it would work every time. As much as he discouraged such thing because he didn’t want Dante to be dependent on him sleeping, it was a neat and quick trick. Useful in times such as this.

Vergil looked at his brother, his right hand moving the comforter to his chin. His left was mushed by Dante, and he knew it would be numb for a while. He ignored it, instead patting his brother gently as the afternoon rolled by. Being like this with Dante always reminded Vergil of the first time he held his brother. Comfortably peaceful and his brother’s warmth against him.

\---

When distantly he heard keys turning and footsteps entering the house, Vergil carefully extracted himself from the bed. He made sure to close the door as quiet as possible, Dante had one and a half-hour more before he had to wake up from his nap.

He swiftly paced through the hallway to greet his parents, though he stifled a sigh when he only saw Eva at the lobby.

She smiled as he appeared, “Hello, dear. Did anything happen while I was away?” She shook her head when Vergil offered his hand to take her bag.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, mother,” Vergil said and followed her to the kitchen. “Dante is napping now,” he then told to her back.

His mother nodded while sorting out the shopping. Herbs, several bottles filled with things that Vergil didn’t know, and some dried flowers in small bags. They were meticulously stored into the cabinets and labelled. Only Eva knew the extensive uses for them, something that never ceased to amaze Vergil at his mother’s expertise.

“Oh, that’s good. Thank you, Vergil,” she patted his son’s head.

Vergil cleared his throat and made a small shrug, “It was nothing, he would be fussy during dinner if he didn’t.”

“Still, that’s very nice of you to do it by yourself,” Eva reasoned, “You’re really patient with him.”

Vergil pouted at the teasing, “I’m _always_ patient,” as he crossed his arms.

Eva only chuckled then turning around to prepare dinner. Out of habit, her eldest son proceeded to lend a hand. The small stool helped to boost him to the right height to wash and cut the vegetables, while she put the pan and turned the stove on. The sun set while the two went about their tasks in companionable silence.

It was when they finished setting up the table that Vergil finally asked.

“Is father coming home?”

Eva gave him a wry smile, “Unfortunately no, dear,” she fixed the vase, “Your father is busy at the moment and he’s going to return late.”

“The usual then,” Vergil couldn’t help but comment. His eyes immediately downcast.

“I know, dear, but he’ll finish soon enough,” Eva gently said and put her hands on his shoulders, “Let’s just wait and when your father can eat dinner with us again, we can bake his favorite,” she poked his cheek, “and I know that is also your favorite cake.”

There was only a handful of times they ate that dessert since it was densely sweet, and Vergil would be buzzing with a sugar high. Added with how it took a long time and effort to make, it was rare for it to be on the daily menu. But the thought of ‘celebrating’ his father resuming their normal dinner time with the special cake was a nice one.

“I’d like that,” he nodded, “but Father will only have a small portion as punishment for missing time.” He crossed his arms and grinned.

His mother grinned back, “That’s a wonderful suggestion. We can eat much more right in front of his smaller one,” she whispered conspiratorially, knowing full well the kind of expression her husband would make.

They giggled and the minute gloom was gone.

“We should get your brother,” Eva glanced at the clock. Vergil also took a glance and then nodded, heading back to the bedroom. When he reached the door, sure enough, there was a rustling heard.

When the three members of the household had sat at the table and Eva was spooning Dante’s food, Vergil couldn’t help but still checked the gates from the nearby window every now and then. The dirt path was empty and dark apart for some small animals passing. No distinct shadows of a familiar figure showed up. The boy ceased with the peeking when his mother started to notice, moving instead to wipe Dante’s mouth with the nearby cloth.

Vergil knew little of what his father did in his own time with Sparda only conveyed such things with Eva. That was normal as Vergil was just a child, no matter how grown-up he convinced himself to be. There bound to be things that he would not be privy to. That was alright. His mother already told him that it was just some prolonged matter that his father was delayed with. After all, it could happen.

The best thing that he could do now was to go about his duties as the eldest son. Studying, training, and looking after Dante. He would wait for their father just like what Eva did.

Things would return to normal soon and everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time rewriting two subsequent chapters until I was just like "Screw this. This chapter is good enough."
> 
> The mysterious circumstances on Sparda's death and history are still up in the air by the canon Capcom makes, not to mention they retcon a lot of things since DMC3 was out. Which means it either be "It's free real estate" or "Plothole hell".
> 
> Comments and kudos are my fuels and greatly appreciated!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Sparda’s late returns had morphed into common disappearances and whatever thought that everything would return to normal was dashed as the months went by. Vergil could now count the time his father was present with one hand.

The rare time he saw Sparda was when he steered his mother into the study. Locking the door following a muffled conversation. Soon after, the maids that had come and went as long as he could remember were dismissed. Eva handled the house works since, with Vergil lending a hand in what he was capable of. He was saddled with taking care of Dante more and more too, feeling like both a brother and a caretaker to the toddler.

It wasn’t as if he minded the new activities, there was nothing he could deny his brother with after all. Only that their father’s absence was so palpable and felt around the house that it bothered Vergil. He didn’t understand the need to dismiss the people outside the family, not to mention burdening their mother with unnecessary tasks even when Eva showed no such complaints. But Vergil knew that it consumed a big part of her days and left her at times tired and lonely without their father.

The overall atmosphere suffered. The deafening silence prevailed when Dante was sleeping. It didn’t help to lessen Vergil’s growing worry. At what he didn’t know, though he would be lying if his guts didn’t twist every now and then when his father arrived and left soon after. Sparing the smallest of time to check on his two sons and wife.

When all became too much that even playing with Dante didn’t help, Vergil grabbed the wooden sword and unleashed on the poor training dummy. Yamato kept in her case as it felt wrong to use her as a mere outlet tool. He suspected that she wouldn’t appreciate it either, ending up being hissy and refusing to be drawn at all. Even for her daily maintenance.

But sweating and panting after an intense training could only provide a brief respite before eventually, the nagging feeling returned. He tried to keep it at bay. It wouldn’t do to keep on asking and prodding to the point of making Eva angry. He didn’t want to be nosy, not when he could see how his mother kept to herself with all this.

That was the problem though, right? Both of his parents keeping things away from him. Leaving him in the dark to grasp at straws. It fueled his frustration and inadequacy, making him felt powerless. Vergil found he disliked it. If the occasional gritting of his teeth was anything to go by.

There were some more months before Vergil couldn’t help himself. He halted Sparda as he was about to step out. His father had then fixed his monocle and lowered himself to one knee after the barrage of questions Vergil spewed.

“After this is over, I’ll tell you,” he said.

“How much longer?” Vergil tilted his head to the side.

“Soon,” Sparda held him, “I promise.”

“… Okay,” his son nodded then looked up, “Promise to tell me everything?”

The father sighed and patted his cheek, “Everything, my son,” he confirmed and stood up, “I’ll be going now. Look after your mother and brother, alright?”

For the umpteenth time, Vergil nodded again, waving at his father’s back until he heard Dante calling. He then closed the front door, turning away in time when Dante jumped. Arms reflexively caught the toddler mid-air.

\---

Then Vergil began to wait.

And waited.

And waited.

Until a year went by and his father wasn’t there when they celebrated his birthday.

\---

The morning after he turned nine years old was not a good one. For lack of a better word. Everything felt scripted. Forced, replicated from past years. They didn’t feel as genuine.

His mother washed last night’s dishes with the usual smile. Greeting him as the morning sunlight illuminated the kitchen. It had almost made the day’s start to be familiar in his sleep-addled mind. Yet of course, as the afternoon rolled in, the distinct uneasy quietness of it all returned. Settling itself on him. He had long come to dislike it.

Playtime with Dante managed to keep his mind off. His little brother always had a soothing effect on him. It was the weekend and Eva left them to play overtime, allowing them to skip Dante’s usual naptime. His brother was infinitely happy at that.

Vergil sat against the tree as the toddler frolicked in the garden. Butterflies flying away and grasses crushed under hurried feet. Dante picked at the flowers then plopped down. Tongue sticking out when he tried to mimic Eva’s movements whenever she wreathed a flower crown. His older brother opened his book, safe in the knowledge that none of the surrounding plants was poisonous. He had made sure to check. The wind blew gently, rustling the leaves. Those which fell onto the pages flicked away.

Yet the words on the pages were becoming incomprehensible as he rubbed his eyes. For the third time. Several of the paragraphs being read over and over again. He couldn’t get himself to focus. Even with the calm and Dante’s small laughter. He sighed as he dropped the book. It was his favorite too. The collection of William Blake’s works. Usually, it didn’t fail to wind him down.

And he knew why he felt off.

The boy kept flicking glances at the gate and the front door, but he had minuscule hope to ever see the familiar figure. It uneased him. A small fear that wormed its way to clog his chest. His father hadn’t been home ever since Vergil saw him last that day. After the promise was made.

He did everything to wait. To busy himself at the impatience.

The things he had done his hardest to keep himself at bay now seemed futile. Jeering at him for being so gullible. But he couldn’t help it now, could he? It was his father after all. He trusted him too much. Loved him too much to give his own family a second of doubt. He saw the thinning of lips; the fleeting concern gazes his mother had but he had ignored it. Electing to leave her by the windows or sometimes asking help on menial things. Eva always indulged him whenever he did those. Knowing apparent because she was their mother and mothers had a distinct, encompassing sense when it came to her own children.

They missed Sparda’s presence in their own ways.

Vergil might be just a child, yet he noticed the sudden perks when Eva heard the doorbell. Had always glowed ethereally when she held onto her husband. The gazes exchanged incomprehensible to him. Vergil’s memories could only reach so much as to how little he saw them together now. What was left he buried deep, not wanting it to be faded by the tides.

He could see how his brother was reacting too. While Dante might not be aware enough, he showed confusion at the absence. He would look around, the bear hugged close as Vergil watched how the toddler seemed to search. Dante had the tendency to offer his favorite toys to each of them. Assigning which was the best for whom. Like a sign, a symbol that he placed upon their place in his mind. The soft doll for Eva, the squishy cat toy for Vergil, and the plush bear for Sparda. They patted him in turn, Eva cooing at the cute display. He could only hold Dante closer when he made noises when there was no recipient for his bear. Not anymore.

His little brother wasn’t the only one who missed having his head gently ruffled and patted by large hands. Vergil denied it but he could even feel his demon snorting. They missed him, emotions running thin, and made the demon grumbled. The family needed the head soon or there would be an imbalance. Distress that left them all vulnerable.

The soft flutters of Dante’s flower crown filled his vision.

Vergil whipped his head to get his stray bangs away. His little brother grinned, hands behind his back. Saccharine sweet in the gesture. Without fail, Vergil imagined the wreath as a crown. He gestured magnanimously which made Dante clapped and giggled. Like a king who had been blessed his sovereignty by the angel. The flowers were mushed, the twines broken. It was perfect. The younger sibling quickly hugged him. His brother never tired of this play. It was… nice. A flickering warmth that pulled him up.

Nonetheless, it was dimmed when he turned his head to the balcony. He rubbed Dante’s back, tucking his frown away. The weight of his brother didn’t successfully distract him from catching his mother. With it, the hovering reminder that everything was not alright. Might not be for a long time. If the rubbing of Eva’s fingers on her own face told him anything.

The wind was still blowing, wafting the sweet smell of the flowers. Vergil tightened his hold on his brother and wondered if there was something he could do. Anything to shed light onto this mess.

\---

Eva caught him in the study.

It was midnight. He had crept along the hallway. On his tiptoes as if he were a thief in his own home. All the lights were turned off apart from the moon itself. It was enough to guide him. He passed his parents’ bedroom as swiftly as possible. Almost tripping over his own nightshirt.

Most of the drawers were opened when his mother arrived at the door. A lantern in her right hand.

“Vergil?”

He blinked and straightened up.

There was a tense moment as Eva’s eyes scanned the room. Scattered papers and half-opened cabinets. Vergil’s own hands held several correspondences. A billion rushed excuses were at the tip of his tongue when Eva walked over to him. Every step felt long and winding as Vergil tried to speak.

His voice would have been a mere croak if Eva hadn’t gently closed her hand around his.

“How long have you been doing this?” She asked with the gentleness only his mother could muster.

There were a few seconds before he answered, “Just… twice now,” he mumbled which was not something that he should do. All of them hated mumbling. He couldn’t help it though. What with going around his own mother’s back and intruding his father’s privacy.

His mother looked at him. Face unreadable. Vergil knew the telltale signs of a lecture before Eva just sighed. It sounded tired and it made him felt worse.

“Let’s clean this up for now,” Eva stood up with him following. “Make sure to put them back correctly, alright?” She said.

He could only nod. Already moving to collect the fallen things. His mother stood by with her eyes never leaving him. They didn’t talk. Didn’t exchange any words until the study was back in its pristine condition. Eva had then closed the door. Without locking it, contrary to Vergil’s expectation.

“I’m sorry,” his mother said when they were at the living room. It made him tilted his head. He should be the one to apologize. A hand cupped his cheek, “You are so worried, aren’t you, Vergil?” his mother gave him a sad smile. “I didn’t want you to, you shouldn’t have to, but of course, you would.”

It didn’t sit right with him seeing his own mother looking forlorn and guilty.

“When is father coming back, mother?” He asked, brows scrunching. “Is he going to? Dante misses him and father also promised to tell me everything,” the words rushed out of him.

Eva sighed again. Eyes closed before she mustered enough to not let them blurred. Her son had a grip on her hand that still cupped his cheek. Vergil’s eyes shone the question strongly. Childish rudeness that could be excused. It still held something shy just below the surface. Eva wondered when did her eldest grow older right under her nose. The guarded hope and small epiphany exuded from him. The latter that she still tried to deny, but as the dawn, it would still be there. No matter how Eva turned away from it.

It seemed like the time was up. She had enough luxury to wallow and run away. Sadness chaining her but she couldn’t let it drag her any more. Vergil already had the inkling, and she needed to be truthful to him. It would hurt. The unsatisfactory answer she would give, yet it was better than making him more stressed. She wasn’t a cruel mother.

So, Eva held her head up and looked at her son in the eyes. The trembling and glassy vision pushed away. Her other hand wrapped Vergil’s own as she opened her lips.

“I do not know, my dear.”

And her tone didn’t lessen the blow.

Distantly, there were the sounds of something snapping. The destruction of that frail ‘promise’ Vergil had tightly held. It fell now, along with his face. Eva had then hugged him. Stock still and numbed. He didn’t remember being steered to his own bed. Eyes staring on all points and none. Slipping into the murky waters. Couldn’t find it inside to resurface. Like holding on to soap.

Vergil blinked and morning came. He sat at the edge of the bed, coldness seeping through his feet. As the sun rose along with the chirping of the birds, so did the bitter reality finally resound.

His father is gone. His father-

_No._

_Sparda_ left them _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Vergil is still a child - a nine years old at that - I tried to imagine how it felt and looked if my father suddenly became absent, I never had that experience thankfully, but I could roughly imagine how weird and off-putting that would be. I mean, I had fair share to have to wait around for my parents, I tried to emulate such feelings to the writing. It is hard, not gonna lie, though I hope it can be understood. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are my fuels and greatly appreciated!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Vergil wiped sweat off his forehead.

The sun beat down on his form and the breeze was dry. The insects rustled around, bringing a cacophony that he didn’t appreciate as much as before. He spared a look at the pile of dirt before he knelt. Knees sinking onto damp soil.

The watering can stood empty beside him and even having some of the water splashed onto his arm only offered little comfort. The heat had been unbearable as of late. Summer arriving in its all glory. It was a particularly hot beginning. Vergil didn’t know if this would only heighten or would be more merciful. It wasn’t as if he disliked summer, it was a good change between colder weathers and too many layered clothing to be comfortable. Having to let the iciness thaw and recede was never not unwelcomed. Especially if it meant less work on heating rooms and barring oneself from the storms with piles of snow that needed to be shoveled.

In the summer, he could wear thin linen clothing and paid attention to the garden. It had become more filled and flourishing. A small greenhouse that had once been empty, now stocked full of pots. Both edible and decorative plants nurtured inside. Vergil found growing your own vegetables meant you didn’t have to leave the house as often. A good cook as his mother was, everything could practically become a delicacy. Thankfully, something that his little brother could appreciate. Not as picky of an eater Vergil had had expected which was a blessing on its own. Dante’s sulking on top of the works needed to be done around the house would drive him to the wall and exhaust Eva. Unneeded hindrances.

Aside from the greens, several flowers bloomed abundantly. The field of their house was surprisingly fertile, though it did take some trials and a few harsh errors to let them grow. Vergil specifically kept a lookout for the roses. His mother loved them, caringly so. It would be sad to see them wilting and gone just because she couldn’t tend to them as more often as she would have liked.

The hose was long and wide, heavy in his tiny hands. It was dragged along the grass, making sure that it was pulled long enough for Vergil to reach the much drier patches. He accidentally sprayed his shoes as he turned the water on. This is just great, the boy sighed and decided to ignore the sudden wetness he had to walk in. After that, he grabbed the rake. The tool was woefully tall, but he was used to maneuver the stick. Some leaves had fallen again, making awful sight of the otherwise organized lawn. There was no need to actually sweep them, though Vergil knew they would only pile and became a more annoying to deal later.

He could feel the dampness on his back and the uncomfortable wetness of his shoes as he worked. It was uncomfortable and he did the rest as fast as possible. It was the last thing he had to do for the time being. Most of the chores were already done earlier in the morning. The laundry done, the beds made, the dishes cleaned with lunch and dinner left to be prepared. It had been a busy start.

When he finally changed and left his shoes to dry, cool glass of water sounded heavenly. The halfling entered the kitchen, and while he held onto the cup, a look at the basket of lemonades suggested of a much better refreshment. Washing and cutting the lemons, he made sure to measure the sugar – Dante having a sugar high would be a nightmare in the making. Besides, tartness refreshed the sluggishness the heat brought. He also grabbed some tea leaves, jasmine, his mother’s favorite and let the leaves brewing in cold water.

The insects’ noise didn’t reach this room. Being only just so distantly heard. Clinking glasses, the swishing sounds of a pitcher being filled, and his shuffling sandals echoed. There was something soothing and therapeutic about waiting for the tea to fully steeped and watching the bubbling sugary syrup submerging the lemon slices. Almost like a lull despite the stifling air. He hummed lightly, moving here and there to place the full pitcher with its three glasses, added with the small tea pot. Wanting something more to accompany such beverages, he grabbed some dried berries and little sponge cakes.

The clock indicated it was two o’clock. A perfect excuse for snack time. He picked the tray, still humming, and walked through the hallway. There was a lilt tugging at his lips when he followed Dante’s soft voice. Letting him know where the rest of his family was. The sun lit up the whole drawing room, giving the colors of the paintings and plush chairs more vivid shades. A record player was playing melodious music, not too jolly, not too demure. Perfect for this kind of day.

But not perfect enough to stop the small twinge when he looked upon his mother. Resting on the chaise lounge with a smile. Frequently covered by her hand nowadays, with how often the coughing had been getting.

Dante was already nearing him as he placed the tray at the table. His brother’s presence fortunately enough to prevent the smile on his face from turning downwards.

\---

The morning after the revelation of the family’s patriarch disappearance, Vergil found himself unmoored.

His limbs were moving, his voice not hoarse, his manners infinitely proper and polite. The books that heeded his attention had been steadily devoured while he stayed in silence in the family’s library. The food tasted as food had always been, the tick-tock of the clocks well-known, and his mother’s piano playing well-rehearsed. Dante was a small speck in his mind, never before the halfling felt his brother’s presence and warmth to be easily dismissed. Eva walked on glass whenever she was around, gentle but at a distance.

Everything was the same yet at the same time, nothing was. To a boy that had to expend his energy into things that felt familiar. For a fear that arrived that was too atavistic. There was emptiness, deafening in its magnification where epiphany had left in its wake. It was too loud, too much of everything. Blurring Vergil’s mind that he would later come to abhor. In all the cocktail of confusion, anxiety, and betrayed sadness, for the first time in his life, Vergil tasted powerlessness.

For the first time in his life, Vergil was acquainted with anger.

He returned to Sparda’s office. Pushing the door open and walked to the large mahogany desk. There, he opened all of the drawers. Depositing every letter, every scroll, and every sign of a correspondence made. They were many, covering the surface and almost spilled to the floor. The youngling had been busy sorting them by sizes when he heard his mother’s heels clicking near.

Eva heard the bang of wood against wall and knew where it came from. She sighed as she crossed her arms, eyes lowered to her child staring back at her. A glint in his eyes, juvenile and desperate. Under the rays filtering through the large window, his shadow was long and elongated. If he had been taller and not simmering, Eva might compare how similar Sparda and their eldest would be. Vergil’s small body slightly hunched with little frowns reminded her of her own secret ache. Her son didn’t know (should never know) how much of Sparda he had in him.

“You can’t read them, Vergil,” his mother walked over, “you haven’t learned how to,” she clarified when she saw the minute tilt of his head.

And thus, she opened the upper-most cabinet, where she knew her husband kept his notes. Amongst all the war recounts, demon politics, and war strategies (for Sparda had been a general before his rebellion), there was a collection of languages. Meticulously formed and laced for vernacular belonging exclusively to demons. Eva might be an excellent academic, but this level of devotion demanded more than half a lifetime to master. Something she wasn’t blessed with, not at the age she met Sparda.

Vergil was different. He was young, so early in life and maybe, just maybe, this would be enough to abate whatever it was that plagued him. Her son became jittery and listless ever since that night. His mind sharp for his age and pushing him to find answers. Anything that would marginally suffice this sudden missing of a step, lest he float down more.

Her son held the books like a lifeline. Nodding his gratitude and swiftly buried himself in the library. Far away from anything, not even Dante could pull him out. There was no doubt he attacked this knowledge with ferocity. Like a hunt to finally be able to find out more about his father’s disappearance. The reasoning behind it and to judge whether Vergil should give him the benefit of the doubt or not at all.

(To decide if he could and should forgive him).

She couldn’t help but let him be. They were different in their loss and grief. For her, there was nothing more she wanted. That deep shared connection fracturing and gone was enough for her soul to just _know._ Vergil wouldn’t comprehend that, only a boy and even with all the surety of his brilliance, the matter of intimacy and bond the couple shared was eons away for him.

Eva had long come to terms when she wanted to marry the demon that was a traitor to its own kind. Had seen, and while she never wished for any of this to come, what was in store. In hindsight, it was selfish of them to want children. No one, half-human or not, should live without a father. Without one half of their parents. But there was no denying the jubilation she and Sparda had when life formed inside her womb. Nothing could compare the weight of new lives blooming. Vergil and Dante paled every treasure, every conquest, and everything that was under the sun.

There was only grief when Sparda didn’t return. Resignation and sadness settling themselves inside her. Nevertheless, she was (partly) prepared. When Vergil asked her about Sparda that night, she knew she had had more than enough time to resettle herself. It did help her to not withhold anything anymore to him.

Maybe she should have. It would let Vergil lived in blissful ignorance and hope. Yet she couldn’t, not when it would only hurt her child more. There was a price to be paid from being a descendant of Sparda. A legacy and a debt for the ones with the Dark Knight as their father. Eva just never thought the world would put the gavel this early, but there was relief in baring the truth. A loose knot that freed her conscience. Mercy for their children.

Maybe that was soft cruelty. One thing that she would never part from.

\---

The pages were hard to read, Vergil was enraptured. He flipped the paper as long as he could go on. Muddled words and unknown consonants pushing him to know more and more. He was alone in this endeavor yet there no helping it. His mother had been kind enough to give him this. A chance to learn his father’s language so he could then finally be able to look for him. Even when it was through piles and piles of messages with patience as a much-needed ally. That was alright, he could work with that. These correspondences were the only clue available. A connection between his father and the outside world.

He poured over his time. Concentration imminent whenever a new day arrived. Soon, it was turning into a challenge that he liked. Finding out new knowledge and prodding them until he finally understood.

(He pushed the thought of how this was the same when Sparda first gave him Yamato far away from his mind.)

The sooner he could read and speak this ancient language, the better. There would only be little time wasted for him to go through those letters, threading each to (hopefully) become a map that shed light on Sparda’s whereabouts.

(He banished the voice that asked, ‘what will you do then?’ and never entertained any scenario more than necessary.)

His frenzy and excessive studying plunged him into a space much separated from anything else. The library had become a second home – its nooks and crannies etched in memories. Nothing called out more than his inherent need to finish. To conquer the books that had winked eyes as if in seduction.

And at the end, Vergil was a fool in the making.

One late afternoon, his little brother’s cries rang out. Electrifying in his hitching breaths. Vergil came, heart beating, and witnessed his mother’s prone form on the floor.

The berating guilt gave him enough strength to peel Dante – panic and alarmingly distressed – from his herculean clawing at Eva’s skirt.

\---

As Vergil passed the training room, he took the time to put everything back in its proper place. The wooden dummies were still well-off, only some chipping from hard swings, and the swords, both wooden and metal faring better than he had thought. He placed them at the corner, where he deposited all of the things into the large cabinet.

The sounds trinkling from the drawing room reached his ears. Dante’s light voice intertwined with Eva’s alto singing. His little brother never left their mother’s side ever since her passing out. It had scared him enough to not want Vergil to take him away. The elder brother couldn’t exactly find it in himself to do so, not when he was at fault for being woefully ignorant. Leaving his mother to a point of severe debility and letting his brother witnessing her health rapidly declined. Nowadays, Dante liked to be around Eva more than Vergil. That was alright, Vergil acquiesced, his little brother should be there for mother.

The upside of not having Dante following him around and snatched a big chunk of Vergil’s time was that he could slip an hour or two of training. There was something relaxing to let loose, an alternative for an exercise without the mundane chores. Yet the wooden sword felt too light while the metal one left him scrunching his nose. Dissatisfaction apparent when they had been nothing short of mere toys. Pale imitation of real armaments.

_Maybe it is nigh time for him to again use-_

There was a pause in his mother’s song as she coughed. And Vergil postponed such thought. After he closed the cabinet, the boy trekked back to the kitchen. Depositing the empty wares into the sink. The soap always had the usual dull smell as he sudsed the dishes. There were still several dirty ones from the morning also. Nowadays, he found his hands to not be adorned with mere paper cuts and handle blisters, but instead with the dryness and flakiness that came with too many contacts with cleaning agents along with the constant film of dusts and dirt alike.

He missed Yamato and his poetry books, but the latter was replaced in favor of the new learning and the former….

Well, the former was met with heavy aversion.

Yamato was loyal to him. Promised to be so when Sparda handed her over into his opened palms. Even sheathed, she exuded energy that raised his hairs. Beautiful, glowing, and sharp. The katana’s length had been a challenge, one that made Vergil wanting to be able to wield her. As magnanimous as Sparda. She whispered to him, melodious and cryptic. Never he could compare her voice with anything. It was difficult to describe. The sword was light, and Vergil found it felt right in his grip. He had enjoyed their time together, whenever Sparda was around or when Dante was safely out of sight. She was a good sword, the then-seven years old was happy with having her.

But Yamato had become an echo that was a bitter reminder for the halfling. It was Sparda’s gift and nothing could change that fact. A label too close for his liking.

Nowadays, Vergil only took her out of the case for the usual maintenance. Not specifically needed as she was supernaturally made, but even flecks of dust could still worm inside. The thought of letting the blade kept inside was not feasible. Vergil wagered she, at least, liked the chance to breathe from time to time. Letting the usual shing of the metal out with the light reflecting from it. There was a small want to play with her again, only for the halfling to stop midway every time.

At each refusal to draw her, Yamato grew more and more frustrated. Not demanding, no never that as Vergil was her master, but enough to be incessant. Her once comforting sounds morphed to shrill and cacophonic. Disharmony between them was apparent, and Vergil in turn reciprocated with the kind of childish impunity he rarely did. There was no one that could bridge their dissonance, no third part available, and Vergil was reminded yet again for that empty chasm Sparda gave.

Not only did he went out of the blue, leaving his family to fend for themselves and burdening his own wife even further, the patriarch had washed himself of his duty to guide his own children. To teach them about their blood and the weapons he had left for each.

Rebellion was perched on its stand at the study. The claymore menacing and rude but housed a strength that Vergil could respect. The skulls were not the friendliest looking, yet its blade was incredibly crafted. It sat still and silent. A complete juxtaposition of Yamato. Vergil wondered how little he was prepared for when Dante could hold it. There was nothing that provide further help on handling such powerful weapons. A fact that both assuaged Vergil’s worry and unsettled him.

Yes, they were gifted with two from Sparda’s own arsenal, but Vergil still couldn’t understand Yamato’s true potential (what could he do about Rebellion then?). All the small steps he managed had been merely out of his own curiosity and personal stubbornness. Added with how hissy she was as of late, Vergil never felt that same thrumming that had greeted him before. She was either completely clamoring or insufferably silent. It was ridiculous to have such quarrel with a sword of all things, but Vergil chucked it all to the list of things Sparda had selfishly rid of.

It was hard to uncover more about your supposed birthright when you were left with nothing. No message or instructions or anything. Not even a farewell.

At the end, Vergil retreated and deemed this whole thing to be foolish. If Yamato would not act nice, then he would not bother with her. Besides, there was nothing that demand his skill in swordsmanship. His days were filled with the house, the garden, his sick mother and his too young little brother. Matters that needed attending to rather than one troublesome keepsake from a deadbeat father.

Vergil dried his hands with a towel and moved to check the clock. Still a few more hours before he needed to take down the laundry. Good, several flowers and greens could be picked after he put Dante to sleep. His brother needed his usual nap, and he wagered their mother would appreciate a good rest also. The medicines by her nightstand were already stocked, Vergil would only need to open the windows for better circulation.

He patted his shirt, slicking the strands of his hair that fell back, and after several deep breaths, he opened his eyes.

“Alright, then,” he walked with renewed steps. The other two family members were nodding off by the plush chairs, seemingly swayed by the breeze and trees outside. The summer sun was dampened by the clouds, the day’s heat subsiding moderately.

Before Vergil continued on however, he went to his room. The glass case was there near his closet, the katana kept safely inside. He touched its surface, eyes looking the Yamato up and down as he then made the decision.

For the first time, he used the small padlock hanging at the frame. A small key was then procured from his desk and he inserted it, turning once. The sound clicked into its place, signifying the secured state. Yamato was impeccable as ever. Her blue coloring stark against the red padding. Nodding satisfactorily, Vergil then finally resumed his tasks. The bedroom empty once again.

(He allowed himself the pettiness at the notion of locking Yamato away.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you see how much I struggled with this chapter? :')  
> that tag about kid Vergil is going to have feelings is ringing true by how much the poor kid is doing. :D
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

“Be a good boy and sit still alright, Dante?” The halfling said, looking at his brother as stern as he could muster, and quickly closed the door.

Vergil walked through the hallway, hands rubbing at his face. Alright, now that the sudden shot of adrenaline kicked in, he managed to shake the sleepiness off. The tiled marble floor echoed his steps. The boy had then proceeded to draw the curtains, pulling the rope to let the late morning sun filtering in. Several of the windows were opened and the breeze was lovely, but Vergil ignored the feeling. He moved to the kitchen, skidding near its also closed shutters before he tip-toed to reach the handle. Vergil hissed as his elbow hit the ceramic sill. Rubbing at the sore spot, he whipped around, eyes already searching for the kettle and for once, he ignored the clanking of wares as his hands did the usual conducting of morning orchestra. The water splashed his pajama sleeves, chilling his arms a bit.

The kettle was settled on the, now that Vergil just noticed, unlit stove. He hissed, standing up and picking the apparently few logs pile. Fortunately, enough for breakfast and tea. He knew he should have refilled them sooner than later. The seconds the fire was made, the boy focused his attention on the things outside the kitchen.

First, last night’s dishes were still there on the dining table. Small hands picked them all and dumped them into the sink. Letting the basin flooded with soapy water. Probably better to wash them along with the newly used plates later.

Second, he had to do the cursory dustings off on the main rooms. The house was big, too much space for just the three of them. Only the drawing room, the kitchen, and the dining room were frequented, along with his own time at the library. But for the last one, it was too much work and the room was best left alone for the time being. There were many books and shelves, things that would spell trouble should they topple down.

Third, the plants needed watering. He forwent the usual watering can in favor of using the hose. Usually this was an enjoyable moment, but today was just not it. Vergil set the water spray to a high setting. As he shifted the direction of the water, the wind changed. Making him tilted his head upwards. He vaguely saw the darkening clouds through the awning of the green house. Then something popped up in his mind.

Swiftly rolling the hose back into place, Vergil rushed to the other side of the lawn. Where he just remembered the laundry had been hanging overnight. The clothes dried with the fabric cool and rough to the touch. A softener was needed when he ironed them then. A drizzle fell onto his hair which prompted him to bundle everything into the basket. The sheets, tablecloth, and towels would be hard to find in such rolls amongst their clothes. He hefted the overflowed hamper back into the house. In the nick of time when the clouds arrived and turned the drizzle into heavier shower.

“Oh, careful there, dear,” Eva gasped lightly when he almost slipped between the smooth floor and his slightly muddied shoes. The soft pile hit his face a split second before he turned to his mother.

“Mother! You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said as he put the basket on a table. “Here, you should sit. I can make the-“ He slapped his forehead. His mother only smiled amusedly, moving the overheated kettle away. She opened the lid, and sure enough, the water had all evaporated.

“I’ll make another one,” Vergil rubbed his head, but Eva stalled his hand.

“It’s alright, Vergil. I’ll do it and while I’m at it, I can also make breakfast,” she said, already moving to open their cupboard.

Vergil followed after her, “No, no. Mother, you should rest. At least, just sit here and I can steep your tea,” he pressed.

“Oh, come now, I’m fine. In fact, I think I’m feeling good today, some small cooking won’t do me any harm,” she huffed fondly. Ruffling his head as he still looked on a bit exasperatedly. “I think since it’s nearing brunch, we can make some simple French toast.”

Her elder son sighed and acceded when he saw how she already picked out the eggs, cutting the bread, and pulling out a pan. While Eva prepared their food, Vergil moved the washed laundry to the ironing board. The sheets were crinkled, and their clothes creased, but that could be easily solved. For now, he would help his mother. Only to have his hand softly batted away when he reached for the kettle again.

“I told you I’ll be doing them,” Eva teased his cheek. “Go on, you better get Dante now. I know that he’s also very hungry,” she said, turning back to pick other ingredients for an oatmeal porridge. Vergil rubbed the spot Eva pinched and after a brief looking back over his shoulder, he went to get his little brother.

Dante was thankfully staying still. Rubbing and making sounds with his plush toy. Snuggling deeper into the pillows. It seemed like he was having fun. Vergil climbed onto the wide bed, tapping his brother’s head to notify his presence.

“Hello there, Dante,” he said and picked him up. The toddler brightened a bit more when he noticed, happily plopping into his arms. “Oh, morning breath there,” Vergil bopped Dante’s nose, “I think some washing and brushing our teeth are due.”

He let the smaller halfling trailed after him to the bathroom. The older of the two brushed his own teeth first before moving onto the younger one. Several times Dante accidentally slapped him during what were only mere minutes. His little brother was never patient. He squealed when Vergil splashed his face with water, muffling his babbling using a soft towel. They didn’t change out of their pajamas. The rumbling stomachs and the dawning realization that Vergil hadn’t eaten anything caught up on him after an hour of nothing.

The wafting smell of sweet food lured the two children. Dante walked ahead, small legs guiding him in stumbling gaits. He was just as wanting as Vergil was for some good brunch. Eva sat at the small wooden island. Now that Vergil noticed under the red shawl, she also hadn’t changed out of her night wear. The off-white gown reaching the floor.

“There you are,” she greeted and patted the high-chair next to her, “Come, let’s put your brother here so we can start eating.”

It was easy to lift Dante, securing the strap to prevent him from sliding off. His brother had the predilection on wiggling away. Vergil himself sat to Dante’s right, placing his brother between Eva and him. A plate of French toast was slid in front of him, the jam and butter just within reach. He cut into the soft bread, the vanilla and cinnamon tasted heavenly as he chewed the first bite. There were times when he made this, a simple recipe to make, though never he successfully replicated what made Eva’s ones so delicious. His mother always had magical touch with the food she made.

“So, is your alarm broken? It’s unusual for you to wake up late,” Eva spoke after they each took more bites in.

Her son coughed, sipping at his milk before continuing with spooning oatmeal into Dante’s mouth. “Uh, no, mother. It works just fine, it was just that I slept a little more after I turned it off,” he wiped the younger’s mouth.

“Ah, I see,” she nodded and sipped her tea. “That’s why I could hear you running around the house. I thought something happened,” Eva chuckled. The frantic steps and mutters were enough to pull her out of her admittedly abundant rest. From her door, she could faintly hear the sounds coming from somewhere around their abode.

“I’m sorry about that, mother,” Vergil lowered his eyes, “I shouldn’t have overslept.”

“It’s alright, I’m glad everything is fine, Vergil. You are such a cleaning fairy, flittering about as if you’re flying off the ground. Really, you should relax a bit more. A few missed works here and there are not bad. There’s always another time,” Eva said and let Dante sipped on a straw from a glass of water. She dabbed her younger son’s lips with a tissue. Her boy giggled, making grabby hands at her.

“It’s better to finish those as soon as possible,” Vergil shrugged, wiping the jam and honey residues with the last of his toast. He determinedly chewed through, looking away from Eva’s dropping shoulders. They had this conversation before. Vergil could still remember the way his mother had had placed her hands on her hips as she looked upon her older son’s damp shirt and stained trouser as he took to wedding and planting, then swiping and mopping the floor. Along with cooking lunch the first few months after she had been advised with a bed rest. The boy ate more portions during meal times, spent and tired and _starving_ after the frenzied taking over all responsibilities.

Vergil was about to plunge their plates and bowl to join their brethren in the sudsy pool at the sink when Eva coughed again. Long and winded, hoarse to the point Dante looked up. He stopped himself from the sigh he was about to make. Instead, he refilled his mother’s cup with tea.

“Thank you, Vergil,” she said between small tremors every time the bout left. “Could you grab the bottles?”

He nodded, opening the medical cabinet, and gave her the pills with the grinded medicinal herbs. The way Eva’s face scrunched at the horrible taste never sat well with Vergil. He turned and counted the supply until his finger came across an empty container. For the second time that day, he slapped his own forehead.

“Vergil?” Eva asked inquiringly when she heard the resounding slap.

The halfling plucked the label off, then hopped down from the stool. He folded the paper neatly before retreating to his room. “I forgot that I need to go to the dispensary earlier today!” He told her. The bed was still woefully messy, some books and Dante’s plushies scattered on it. The pajama was thrown over to the hamper, Vergil picking a shirt and inserting his legs into some pants. A glance to the window told him that the rain won’t let up anytime soon. He grabbed his rain jacket, lacing up his boots, and made some last minutes touch for his hair. His outfit could have been more put together. Oh, well…

“Why do you have to be early?” Eva raised her brow with Dante now sitting on her lap.

Vergil looked around for the small canvas bag he used for shopping before answering. “I remember today is some kind of a small holiday there at the town. The owner wants to close right after lunch, I completely didn’t remember about that!” He grumbled. More at his own clumsiness than anything else. If Dante hadn’t been awake, moved around, and made quite loud noises, Vergil would have still been happily snoozing. Not getting anything done and would make the day went wasteful. Added with how that meant his mother would be short on one medication was just another thing that made the day going off to a bad start.

The clock showed half past eleven. He found the bag, sighing then moved to put on his shawl. Fall wasn’t that cold yet, though with the ongoing rain it could get nippy enough.

“Don’t forget the umbrella and the wallet,” Eva reminded him.

He clicked his tongue. Again, other things he missed. He held the yellow-colored umbrella in his hand as he moved to kiss his mother on the cheek. The small money purse settled inside his inner pocket.

“I’m going now,” he said to her, then moved to kiss Dante on the forehead. “Be good now, okay? You shouldn’t be difficult with mother,” he poked his brother’s cheek.

He was about to straighten up when he felt his amulet being tugged. “What is it, Dante?” He asked. His little brother answered by pulling his neck more and he kneeled again. “Ow, Dante, I thought you are over this,” he said when Dante moved to put the red jewel near his lips.

“Oh my,” Eva chuckled. Her younger son was peppering kisses on it.

When he understood, Vergil lightly smiled. “You’re trying to mimic mother, aren’t you?” He huffed, gently pulling the jewel away to kiss his brother again, this time on the cheek.

“Verver, bye!” Dante grinned.

Both Eva and Vergil laughed at his antic. She also pressed her lips on the amulet, tucking the necklace back inside his shirt. “Be careful out there, dear,” she patted his cheek.

Vergil nodded, fixing his jacket and opened the backdoor. The pouring was continuous but tolerable. He opened his umbrella, letting the pitter-patter filled his ears as he exited their yard.

The overarching coolness and grey day had begun to lighten his mood when his boot stepped into a puddle. Quite deep one just some meters away from the gate.

He sighed.

\---

The man behind the counter was old and weathered to clearly remember him. Vergil found that comforting. The label was given to him, along with rattling off the usual dosage and bargain. It was just them at the store, most people favoring the new one at the other end of the street. He never understood what made them different. In his eyes, the other had all been fangled with the intent of modernism, nothing inside the current store didn’t have. Even relatively cheaper, considering how much the new pharmacy boasted about their pedigree. Vergil didn’t like that, not when there were too many people working there. Gossips and idle talks were bound to happen if he showed up there more than necessary. Besides, he thought the antiqueness of this place was part of the charm. The aged look along with pure glassware filled with medicinal ingredients and the analog technology appealed to him.

The coins were counted. Always. Under his scrutiny, despite the usual exchange and rate. The man might have looked a bit insulted at that, but Vergil didn’t care enough. Nodding when the change was correct, he put the package into the bag. The bell tinkled when he exited the shop.

On the sidewalk, he settled his canvas bag more securely. Making sure to not bump into the bustling people. The market was opened for the weekdays. A rare event that attracted children and adults alike. Vergil heard of some sort of local holiday but didn’t deem it important enough. He treaded through chatting teenagers, people with their hands full of bags, and the ones who only enjoying the sight. While the neighborhood was decorated with colorful flags and rows of garlands, some weren’t distracted enough not to notice him. Vergil dearly missed the rain. At least, with the umbrella, no one looked twice at him.

The town was the same as ever. Vergil quickened his pace. Every time he visited the town in the past, he had done so with his mother. Eva was better at reading people and having to put up a face with them. The people around seemed to still see him and his mother as ‘odd’, with all her gentle prowess and his own physical traits. Like most creatures, humans didn’t do well with something that they weren’t familiar to, but at least, it wasn’t fear that made parents looked twice at them. It also wasn’t malice when some of the brashest one asked intruding questions. No, it was only mere curiosity, which was fine to him and his mother.

The alternative route he took led him pass the bookstore. The owner waved from beyond the window. Nestled deep between tall piles of books, even ones that were at the desk. Vergil took one look at his pocket watch. It was almost one. Lunch would be also late seeing how the brunch they had.

“Good day, ma’am,” the boy greeted. He took a deep breath. Savoring the distinct fresh bindings intermingling with the musk.

“Hey, isn’t this the little gentleman?” The hoarse voice called. The woman was the only one around, her arms folded on the mahogany register. “You’re not here for the carnival?” She asked.

“Is that what it is,” Vergil looked outside, “Well, I’m not here for that. I had needed to pick up something by another shop,” he told her.

“Ah, shame. Heard they have pretty good performers too, from the big city over, I heard them said,” she leaned against her palm. “Well, I would have if this rickety wheelchair could bring me through the sea of people, but alas,” she chuckled then pointed to a section of her shop. “I have new boxes arriving two days ago. You can check them all out. I think I spotted some of those literatures you like,” she told him.

Vergil lit up slightly, giving the lady a grateful nod before pacing over several stacks and buried his nose into one of the books. He disappeared into rows of shelves. Furthering himself inwards. The shop’s owner only huffed fondly, knowing he was at his favorite spot. The boy was a funny one, his taste rivalled even her bibliophile customer. His dictions were insanely complicated, she had a good laugh inside when she tried to test him. There was nothing to lessen her initial reservation, after all, he was only a child and seeing him putting books after books on the register was not too convincing. Children tended to mimic the adults and he could just be trying to look smart. But no, he truly liked them.

Vergil had two stacks near his feet. A book held in his hands. He scanned through them, not sitting down as he had limited hour before he needed to return home. His necklace snagged between the larger pages, bopping his nose when he lifted his neck. The red jewel smudged by his mother’s lipstick. He softly rubbed it. Sleeve pointedly stained. It was a relieving thought for Eva to be able to roam the house unhindered. Her face acquired the usual shine again, not pale enough to warrant any worry. Food was easier to digest and his mother’s appetite wasn’t suffering. The bed contained her less with most of her energy returning.

All of those were enough and good, Vergil couldn’t ask for more. Dante also noticed the favored turn of event, even when he couldn’t yet process the extend of it. That little sibling of his was sensitive, all the more reason why Vergil was silently glad that his demon part hadn’t fully resurfaced. Dante would only be confused and overwhelmed. Strong emotions were always bound to roil in spite of how young the soul still.

Vergil placed several books back to the shelf. Thumbing along the others in his hand. They were thinner than his usual read, the cover tastefully artful without obnoxious colorings. He traced the pressed letters on them. A rare thing nowadays, when leather or hard cover became more of a prized collection than be used for its intended purpose. That was a strange concept; to not read a book but putting it for display. An insufferable rendering of the words stored inside. A waste.

“Ah, this is new for you,” the woman commented as she inserted the price to her register. The small carton card jinked, showing the amount and she wrapped them in brown paper.

Vergil shrugged, “A change of genre is nice,” he said, opening his wallet.

“Well, the Brothers Grimm’s collection is an easy way to read almost all fairy tales,” she hummed.

The boy tended to pay with the amount that demanded change and he deposited the coins inside the jar. She rolled her eyes, waving at him as Vergil exited the shop. Hooking his shawl further up at the spring gushes.

His mother’s medicine was settled between the two new books. The packaging rustled against each other. Books had been permanent his whole life, the pull of that perfect _something_ hidden deep. Reading was second nature for Vergil. The notion of metaphorically ingesting letters and numbers an undeniably enjoyed time. That bookstore was an oasis. Secluded from any main street, the owner never nosed around. Perfectly private and strange at times. It was the sole thing Vergil liked from the town. Truly appreciated for its existence alone.

He didn’t know if Dante would share his love for reading. Almost two years old and always preoccupied with everything and nothing. It was endearing. Maybe tonight after dinner he could coax Dante to read by the fireplace. A full belly with their mother’s soothing voice, Vergil wagered even that had the possibility of winding Dante down. He wondered if his brother would come to value poetry. His mother was the one who imparted such love. Surrounding Vergil and her when there were only just them while Eva talentedly read the passages.

Vergil missed that.

Too early of a nostalgia seeing how he was still only nine-years old. He didn’t dwell on what had caused it.

He thought he had enough of a bad day.

\---

“Dante! Stop it,” he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The bubbles almost got to his tongue.

His brother was having too much fun and blew raspberries. Grins widening ever more.

“Bath! Verver needs cleaning,” he said and was about splashed water when Vergil picked him up. Then with theatrics, he plunged Dante again into the tub. It overflowed, wetting his shirts, and he was already knowing his pants were unsalvageable. His brother squealed, chanting ‘again, again.’

“Vergil, you should also take a bath,” Eva reminded, leaning against the doorway. She was dressed in fresh nightgown, this time with fleece and cotton cardigan. Always with a pinch of red. “You look tired, dear,” she pulled her sons’ night clothes from the closet. The pile placed neatly on near the stool.

“I’ll do so after Dante is done,” he said. His hand busy scrubbing shampoo through Dante’s white hair. The younger sibling shut his eyes tight, mimicking Vergil’s previous gesture to do so. The water was warm, perfect just as Vergil wanted. Would always want when his brother was concerned. The rest of the wash was brief, Vergil smothering Dante with the soft towels. His brother had started to look sleepy by the ministrations. No doubt furthered since their after-dinner activity.

It was a wonder that Dante managed to be good. Sitting on Vergil’s lap and listened on Eva reading the fairy tales. He had been hugging his bear plushie, at times tilting his head to be able to see the illustrations more clearly. Their mother’s voice melodious and engaging. When the grandfather clock stroke nine, Dante almost never wanted it to end. Only the coaxing promise of a bubble bath managed to peel him from the sofa. His brother’s fluttering eyelids contagious.

Eva took over dressing Dante when Vergil failed to stifle his own yawn. “You should hurry and go to sleep too. You’ve been a very busy young man today,” she reasoned. Already steering Dante out for privacy. She didn’t give him time to object before the door shut closed. He stood there in the middle of the master bathroom, shaking his head.

The feeling of hot water eased him. The plastic ducks floating around, Vergil too lethargic to remove them. Some bumped his knees as he submerged himself. A nice ending for today. He appreciated the scent the soaps had, something different from the generic ones he encountered. Though, that could be because his nose was stuffed with detergents and dish soaps on most of his time. He scrubbed down, swift and methodical. The day’s grime, the rain’s leftover dampness in his hair and some dirt stuck between his nails washed away. The running shower always gave him a lull. An emptiness at the motion.

He almost bumped his head when his eyes drooped. Yawning for the umpteenth time. Eva laughed as she heard the thumping. Her hand deftly dried his hair with the other held his chin. Keeping him still lest he hit the edge of the sink. Eva was so soft and nice against him. For once, her coughs barely there.

Dante was already sleeping. Surrounded with pillows and blankets. His older brother would have placed him beside himself before actually turning in, but he didn’t believe to be able to do so when he was fully dressed again.

“Good night, Vergil. Now rest, you don’t even look like you can stand anymore,” Eva kissed his head. Vergil nodded, waiting until his mother was at the bedroom’s door. He held her hand, returning the kiss before he looked up.

“Good night, mother. Sleep well,” he answered and squeezed his hand around hers, “Please wake me if you need anything.”

Eva couldn’t help but coo a bit, pinching his cheek before moving away. Closing the door shut, her footsteps fading away even to his advanced hearing. The boy turned, putting his still scattered books away. When he had the last one of them, he stopped. Contemplating.

He didn’t spare time to study today. The notion ignored in favor on catching up being late for the day. The light was dimmed, enough that Dante could sleep unhindered. The one at his desk remained, shining on him from his position on the bed. A little more reading wouldn’t hurt. He flicked a glance at the nearby clock.

It wouldn’t hurt, the child thought, just a few pages. To make him feel like he did something. A few more as he flicked the papers. Eyes zoning into the letters. The moon was hidden deep, the sky teeming with grey clouds. Plunging the already dark night even deeper. Winds rustled the trees, their branches scratching against glass. The only sounds filling the whole place.

When the moon finally emerged, its pure white ray shining through, it caressed the boy. Head pillowed with the book dropped from the edge. At the last moments he managed to turn the light off as the weight of his eyelids overpowered him.

\---

Then morning came and Vergil woke up before his alarm. The day after, he did so again. Then another and another.

He did his time at the library, cared for Dante, and minded the chores. Eva’s health ever-present in his mind. The leaves turned, smothering their lawn with yellow. The breeze stronger and the sun starting to hide away. Animals were scarce, burrowing themselves for a long nap. The fireplace was made for its warmth. The curtains around the manor no longer drawn, the daylight turning shorter. His mother had been knitting, calm inside the drawing room. Felt blankets covering her. Dante loved snuggling on her, content like a kitten.

Vergil went about his days. Hands and feet busy. Weekdays and weekends held no specific meanings. Not anymore.

\---

The storm had been too loud, Vergil reasoned. Too deafening and chipped away his hearing to notice Dante standing by the door as he slammed the books hard. He had immediately held his brother, holding his cheeks as Dante turned from smiling to shocked.

“Oh, why are you up at this hour, Dante?” He shushed his brother, hands kept on brushing his eyes and hair. Dante had looked on, widened eyes and clamped mouth before melting into the touch. Attention diverted in favor of hugging his brother. He tightened his hold around Vergil, jolting when thunder boomed.

Oh, Vergil hoped he didn’t make it worse.

Dante had been already asleep; he had checked twice. His little brother snoring contently at their bedroom. Vergil had left, gravitating towards his favorite room after he realized the weather would not let up. He placed Dante at his hip, carefully putting away the notes, the writing utensils, and the blasted books. The older sibling humming softly to distract the smaller child from the flashing lightning. The hallway was dim, a few lights turned on, as the two siblings returned their bedroom. Dante was quick for wanting sleep again. His eyes drooping and it was proof enough to Vergil that his little brother was immensely upset by the way the weather was faring.

Dante’s hands gripped his shirt, tugging him in. Vergil ceded the command. It sufficed Dante as he was swayed into the land of dreams again. His older brother’s hands never stopped caressing his hair. Apologetic in the movement.

Their mother was resting, leaving Vergil alone with Dante resuming his usual doze. The pattering of the rain dampened his earlier outburst. The table was luckily saved from any dent. But the want to rend his notebook still lingered. Vergil laid his head deeper into the pillows, head throbbing. Dante was warm against him, oblivious on how much his presence soothed his brother.

The halfling hadn’t been able to understand even mere sentences from Sparda’s works. The alphabets seemed to be mocking him and his efforts. There was no guide to look for, nothing that could help him. All his hard work only contained with a quarter of a page and even that had been filled with scratches. He couldn’t fault his mother for giving him such materials, it had been him that had been childishly foolish. But again, there was still a speck of hope disgustingly clinging for him to maybe, just maybe, he could find Sparda through the littlest of means.

Vergil had only the want to burn all those books now. Times futilely wasted, times that were used to agonize blindly in something that was too much beyond him. Yet the thought of stopping grated him, an indirect admittance to himself that he should just let it go. To cease this attempt, and in a scornful extend to let Sparda go. He couldn’t have that. Wouldn’t have that. It was callow of him, Vergil didn’t care, perceiving that he didn’t have to be mulling this alone, didn’t have to have to find everything on his woefully young age, if Sparda never left. This whole endeavor wouldn’t even be done if that Dark Knight hadn’t disappeared. Gone like the wind and leaving nothing in his wake.

And Vergil was glad that he had left Yamato in the case alone. The drape over it slowly gathered dusts. Because that katana had become silent. Cutting herself away from him. Not even ice was felt anymore. An emptiness, an absence that had him heated at the play on the reminder. More so since she herself had also been one in the first place. Again, it was callow, but Vergil simmered in it, to judge how much more this could have been avoided altogether if _someone_ actually was around to teach him. A supposed mentor to direct his wielding of Yamato. She should have been an extension of him, not an annoyance despite her prowess.

All of these rattled him. Seeped into his bones and Vergil _knew_ a child his age should not be feeling like this. He hid them, his mother couldn’t worry more than her own health. It was better, but both of them were always cautious. At least, now she was spry enough to lessen the menial ones of the works needed to be done around the house. The only good thing Sparda had ever left them (him) with.

Lightning flashed once more. Vergil shut his eyes. His brother’s mumbling made the boy loosened his hold around the toddler. He caressed Dante’s hair. His little brother didn’t seem to be awakened by his sudden tightening, though he did move closer. Gravitating towards Vergil’s own warmth.

Ah, his little brother shouldn’t see him at his worst. Vergil reminded himself to be at bay whenever his brother was around in the future. Dante deserved gentleness and love; he would make sure of that. Even when he realized that they had no father. He would keep his brother sweet and safe. On that he couldn’t fail. He was the older brother that had been dealt a harsh blow by their own patriarch. Him and no one else. Dante didn’t need to feel that hurt.

Oh, he shall not.

The epiphany descended on Vergil. Feeling its revealing touch. He then finally chose to rest for the moment.

He may need to put the books back to where they belonged and should avoid the study lest he rekindled that infinitely foolish hope and bitterness. He also might have Yamato placed in the attic, away from his sight. Those could be done later. For now, the storm was a lullaby and the bed was plush.

Vergil was very, very tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very early Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays for yall!  
> Here's hoping for 2021 to be better because the bar is set so damn low. 
> 
> I had some fun writing about chores because I remember when I was Vergil's age, my mother had to do most of them when there were no helping hands around. So, yes, housework for me is therapeutic. Not for Vergil though :'D
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Snow melted and gave way to blooms.

Vergil could finally have the time to weed the lawn while arranging the pots outside the green house once more without layers of bulky coats, sweaters, and jackets. The sun didn’t hide itself for far longer anymore, giving him daylight as he worked around the house. He liked to spend his time outside, stretching his legs. Cabin fever was not the correct word, but he did appreciate the opportunity to not be secluded within the walls that had become too familiar and stifling sometimes.

Dante was growing, becoming more active and his gait was steadier. Vergil tried to stand a step away when they walked, electing to let Dante reached either him or their mother in his own pace. His little brother had the tendency to sit down and asked to be hold whenever they were near. They couldn’t do that often, Dante needed to have to move and had small exercises here and there. He was still so small, his bones and muscles and everything developing. Vergil wondered if he had been the same. Soft and fragile. Yet his brother had a life to himself, something that brought smiles and light onto Vergil and Eva.

The chores could be dreary, and Vergil wasn’t immune to the weariness when it weighed his limbs to the bed at dawn. His mother liked to take his tasks, smiling, and shooing him away as he noticed. Still, he lessened his comments, understanding that idleness was something Eva disliked. She hadn’t moved around as much as before, but she seized the chances when she could. The colder weather did her good surprisingly, the cooler air refreshing. It did help that their abode was far from the town, away from the pollution and noises. Vergil tried to be calmed, searching comfort in the knowledge that her health was doing well – but he couldn’t help to sigh when the coughs started or the small fevers showed themselves. His comings and goings to the dispensary becoming more frequent whenever that happened.

The walk to and from the town, the weekly restocking of their pantry, the care for the plants, the cleaning, the dusting, the whole looking after his own family, and their house. His hands weren’t smooth, they were rough, but again, not from Yamato. He couldn’t remember what her handle felt like as of late. The sword was not placed at the attic at the end, only pushed to the corner of his room and with a heavier layer of tarp draped over the glass case.

The boy glanced at it as he readied himself for the day. The bed was already made while he brushed his hair, careful with his movements as Dante was still asleep. The younger one nestled deeply amongst the pillows as protective barrier preventing him from rolling off. He almost did once, Vergil could still remember the sheer stopping of his heart when he caught him.

After his clothes were set and properly put on, the halfling went on his day. The routine done naturally onwards. The chirps and flutters of birds and butterflies alike greeted him. Floating about and uncaring of his presence. The sight had once elated him, signaling a change of plays and leisure. Vergil felt that it had been years since he felt anything akin to that.

\---

His mother reminded him of the important date.

She had been looking for a talk since breakfast. Glancing at him while she spooned Dante’s food. Vergil was busy eating his, wanting to get as much fuel to burn as possible. Today promised less chance of rain, perfect to wash and dry their laundry along with the curtains. The latter especially had many wide and heavy layers.

Eva found him during lunch, sweating and a bit less put together but maintaining. She brought him the sandwiches with Dante trailing along.

“The weather is nice for some picnic, isn’t it?” She reasoned and laid down the cloth.

Dante seemed impatient by his walk and made to pull him along. He ended up pinching Vergil’s skin through the pants. “Alright, alright,” he said. “You always perk at the mention of food, Dante. You little glutton,” he poked his cheek. His brother only grinned, already getting distracted by a passing butterfly.

They ate with the rustling leaves and critters. Once in a while, he broke small bits of his bread and threw them at the squirrels and crows. The tomatoes were fresh in his mouth, juicily complimenting the saltiness of the ham and egg. He was chewing through another one when his mother spoke.

“It will be your birthday in a few weeks,” she said. Sipping her tea. “Do you have anything in mind?”

Oh, has it been a year already? And that near his date? Vergil hadn’t truly counted since. He knew why, deep down, but elected to brush it off.

He hummed, “I don’t know, mother,” the sandwich was ripped more harshly. “Do you have any suggestion? I think Dante would very much like the celebration.” His little brother had been the only one genuinely enjoying it last year.

There was a moment while Eva touched her chin.

“How about giving yourself a full week off, dear?” 

A daring proposition. Vergil put down his meal. “But who is going to take care of the house? It takes only less than two days for everything to have dusts on,” he tilted his head.

“I think it won’t hurt. We don’t use that many spaces too,” Eva said while she refilled her tea.

Vergil tapped his finger, “But what about the laundry? Changing the sheets? The pantry?”

Again, his mother sipped her tea. “Well, we have enough clothes to last a week without many washings and we can fill up the kitchen while the beds? Oh, dear, you know it’s only once every few weeks.”

“But then, there’s more things to be done after one week and more time, not to mention the energy to do all that,” Vergil reasoned. That sounded horribly plenty.

His mother smiled, pinching his cheek. “I think that is what having a vacation means, yes? Gathering your strength, having the whole time for yourself, and just do not think about anything less,” she countered. “Vergil, dear, your brother and I do appreciate what you are doing, I really do, but have you ever woken up late these days? Strolling around after mealtimes? Ever stays truly awake after dinner? Your brother misses you. He’s always looking for you when you are out,” Eva’s hand on him was gentle.

Those sounded foreign. He never spared a thought about it. Not much if he must say so himself. Had it only been a year? Vergil wished it had been more. This didn’t manage for his reply, and Eva noticed. Her hand retracted yet not before patting his head.

“Think about it, dear,” she picked up an apple. “You have been working hard and it seems to be good to have a breather. Especially for your day, a nice small celebration that you can do with me and Dante.”

There was a specificity with the last words, Vergil caught it. He nodded, eyes staring at his food as his brother came. Apparently having his curiosity sated with the butterflies. The toddler wanted to have a bite of the apple Eva had peeled and cut. On cue, Vergil plucked him away, sternly putting him in his own lap. Dante turned fussy while he held him.

“Alright, alright, time for your lunch,” Vergil sighed and almost spilled the bowl when Dante squealed. “Please, Dante or we’re going to bath you once more.” He warned.

At the mention of ‘bath’, his brother wilted. Staying more still while he obediently opened his mouth. Eva chuckled at the sight, preparing another cut apple for her youngest. Strangely enough, Dante liked to eat fruits and vegetables more than his older brother. Not to say her eldest was picky, but it was there. The difference. Her husband was like that also when he had first tried genuine human food.

She settled the fruit pieces on a nearby plate. Stopping herself from commenting how much of an echo Vergil was. How much of Sparda was peppered in his young age, despite it all. Despite everything. Eva watched as he bit a piece when his brother gleefully shoved it at his mouth, and she let the thought go.

\---

His mother had gone to her bedroom after lunch. The windows were slightly opened as the fireplace was set alight. Allowing her to breath fresh air but also comfortably warmed. Vergil put her medicines and tea at a bedside table before retreating, checking over that his mother had everything she needed and closed the door shut.

Right now, he was in the living room. Dante standing away as he busied with the toys and plushies scattered about. They weren’t at the usual playroom, Vergil opting his little brother might like the change of scenery. He would have brought him to the garden again, yet the wind was still a bit nippy. The last thing he wanted was to have his brother catching a cold, even when he knew they were half-demons. Things were best to be prevented and all that.

Vergil was leaning against the chaise lounge, reading through some books that he had been ignoring before. The ones he should have paid attention to instead of that meaningless endeavor. The leatherbound book was propped open on his lap as he periodically flicked glances to his brother. Dante was preoccupied with scenarios in his head, things that were beyond him. It was an endearing sight. Such innocence and naivety that truly didn’t perceive the world much. To not have a care such was his right as a toddler and the youngest.

The older one was glad for it.

While it wasn’t prominent, the painting atop the hearth incited a flicker of that well-known something that he shan’t name. He knew it would be too far to ask for it to be put away. His mother loved the skill it took in its creation. The master painter had been old if he remembered correctly, a shriveled and hunching woman with grey hair that were not as glorious as Sparda. Her hands had been nimble in dancing on the canvas, eyes clear despite the folds. He remembered how sore his legs were when they were finished. Eva’s arms did too, having to hold Dante as a bundle. Sparda was the only one looking unruffled, rising tall from his seat and nodded his thanks to the painter. Handing over a hefty amount of payment in a pouch. Always with the same coolness he exuded, always the one who was truly unperturbed.

_He wondered if that was also how easily he-_

That thought was stopped. Crushed under his feet. Vergil smoothed over the wrinkled page.

“Verver?” His brother plopped onto his legs.

The older one shook his head and after pushing the book away, he lifted his brother. “Yes, Dante? What is it?”

“Verver!” The younger halfling said. Pushing his teddy bear at him while pouting.

Ah, Vergil thought, his brother might be jealous of the book. He fully closed it and held the bear. “What do you want to play, Dante? Hide and seek? Or do you want to be a prince like those fairy tales?”

The storybook he bought had become Dante’s new favorite interest. The pictures entranced him which was something of a relief. Vergil hit gold finding that one from the bookshop. The owner lady always knowing what was best to recommend to him. Dante didn’t understand many words yet, though that didn’t stop Eva from reading to them. In her bedrest, she made some fabric crowns and capes, putting them on her youngest. Vergil heard her chuckling whenever Dante and she were left alone.

Of course, Dante didn’t answer his question and only made to climb onto him more. His brother was determined to grab onto his hair all of a sudden. “Ouch, what is it with you, brother?” He peeled him away.

His brother grinned, inexplicably happy that Vergil’s attention was on him. It didn’t seem like they would get anywhere with playing this afternoon. Dante was content on making noises while snuggling to Vergil after the initial burst on making Vergil his own personal jungle gym. Surprisingly less energetic than this usual time of the day. Maybe he ate more than Vergil thought, a whole apple had been almost entirely devoured by Dante alone after all. Not to mention, the chicken and peas were filling. Dante found his preferred spot, on his brother’s chest and stomach before finally settling down. Vergil wiped the drool with his sleeve.

The grandfather clock showed that it was half past two and in the rare times, he didn’t have to coax Dante for his nap. His brother went willingly as in already dozing off on him. Vergil was about to move him to bed when he stopped. His mother’s words coming to mind.

It was true that it sounded nice to have nothing to do. Not to mention a week of that. He would be resting; hands empty of everything with his legs not needing to move around so quickly. Yet with the pause came the chance to reminisce and _think._ Vergil found he rather not. But still, he contemplated as he stared at his brother, that would do him some good. A maid and a gardener were the roles he assumed rather than a son and a brother to his family. Seemingly distanced and far, even when they were all under the same roof. It had the implication that rang too close which was something Vergil didn’t want to be.

He wouldn’t be like _him._

Vergil inhaled, rubbing his forehead. Gods, he was only a child but why did he have to think this hard? He settled himself and Dante more on the lounge. Divesting his boots, them thumping softly on the carpet floor. His brother didn’t move much, snoring softly, his breathes tickling Vergil’s fingers. The younger child looked peaceful with eyes closed and cheek mushed against his brother. The elder son of Sparda wondered if this would last. Wondered if he could keep his younger sibling this way. In blissful genial within his arms.

Looking at his brother affected his eyelids. There was still the task of grabbing and finishing the laundry along with squeezing in time to continue his previously abandoned tutelage before preparing dinner. Yet Vergil kept on staring at his brother, letting himself be affected more and more to close his eyes. All the while his mother’s suggestion appearing wonderful as it stewed. A quality time with all of them together was a thing he could do, especially nearing his birthday. Nearing _that_ day. Filling the days up to it with merriments and enjoyments that had nothing to do with Sparda was a pettiness he could revel.

And that thought followed him to the short rest.

The next time the grandfather clock dinged, Vergil splashed his face with cold water. After changing out of his shirt that was inevitably drooled on by his brother, he fixed his hair on the mirror. He could see how refreshed he became and nodded, then with a spring in his steps resumed his duties. Having something to look forward to telling during dinner later.

It seemed he would take his mother’s advice after all.

\---

The sun teased his eyelids, and the blanket was pulled to cover him more. The birds joined forces with the light to wake up this little early riser to no avail. The clock was turned off, muted to oblivion. He rolled around periodically, digging deeper into the plush surface. Dante was more than happy to oblige in the apparent laziness. Finding nothing wrong with staying in bed. It was only the thought of food that Vergil peeled himself to stand. Rubbing sleep and stretching – sighing at the still-quietness of a late morning.

The first three days, brunches were made instead of swift breakfast. Indulgent with apparent sloppiness. They tasted great. Dishes piled neatly and finally washed after the third day. Vergil did them with the deal of being able to have lunch on bed. Something that his mother normally didn’t allow. He never had them unless that one rare time he made himself sick; tray of soup and bitter teas placed as the then-smaller boy swaddled in thick clothes with cold towel on his forehead. Lunches were also simple with distinct lack of care in presentation, the taste was the best he ever had. Afternoon teas became staple as the week went on, sweet cakes and savory bread placed on the special tray his mother pulled from the cupboard. Both the tea leaves and pastries were bought from the bakery, the things he dismissed or even hadn’t known existed from their products.

The three of them repeatedly visited the town. Visiting the aforementioned place and also sparing time to the dispensary, Eva shared the same preference on the more antique shop than the clinically clean modern one. They garnered looks everywhere they went, of course, Eva herself had been seldom seen for a time. But Vergil was deeply enjoying the feel of her hand around his while walking under the pleasant weather to care. The shops, the markets, the parks, and the cobblestone streets charmed Dante who gaped and awed at everyone and everything. The bustling noises brought stimulation with the colorful trinkets displayed from the sales windows.

They visited the bookshop during the middle of the week. The old lady seemed genuinely entertained with Dante who didn’t hesitate to approach her. She pushed her wheelchair outside the register where she customarily perched around. Eva stroke good conversation with her, procuring several books for herself while Vergil slid another poetry for his collection. Its cover was brown with gold accents, the elderly woman offered the option to personalize it when Eva amusedly mentioned he would turn older soon. He took it. The letter ‘V’ carefully stamped under the woman’s guidance, clean and perfect.

“Not bad,” she commented with the other books already wrapped and tied, “not bad at all for a first try.”

His mother nodded along. The two women talked some more with him bringing Dante around the humble shop. Chuckling when Dante sneezed at the dusts. The family took a detour after, buying several flowers from the nearby florist and sat on the park grass. The place was not as lush as their garden. Dried patches and few flourishing plants that managed to live. Almost every passerby looked twice at them. Merrily making flower wreaths. Eva’s were the best, Dante’s were smushed and flat while Vergil didn’t even try. He rather put them between the braids he made with his mother’s hair. They formed their own atmosphere, a safe and warm bubble reserved for them alone. Vergil couldn’t exactly say he wanted the day to end. It did end nevertheless with a stomach full of sweets that would last him a lifetime. When he closed his eyes under the moonlight, did he remember that sated fatigue could come from wonderful things.

Vergil found his mother at the drawing room the next noon. Paints specked her cheeks while she laughed, covering her snorts. He peeked at the canvas then stopped himself from being rude. Dante just strung along as they let loose. All having no idea on color theory or mixing them to be correct. Their self-portraits and of each other were not high art, that was for sure. Dante left little handprints on the canvasses. Him finding the paint tube when they weren’t looking. He didn’t eat it, fortunately. A trip to the bathroom was due when they finished.

Two days before his birthday, they went to the market once more. Eva led the purchasing with the list in her hand. She had been spry during the whole week; Vergil was glad she could walk without exerting too much energy. The bag was held by him still though, he couldn’t have her brought it by herself. The couple at the stall were endeared – ‘such a gentleman’ they quipped. The things they bought were for the cake, an old recipe Eva found. It was a nice change of taste and they could make it together at the kitchen. Dante could help cracking a few eggs even. They put the ingredients in their own special place complete with the utensils to be used. It was something to look forward.

After dinner before the day, Dante stumbled upon the violin case. His tapping made Vergil looked up from his book.

“Oh, your brother found my old instrument,” Eva opened the case. The violin was a bit dusty and off-tune. “It’s manageable, I suppose. Would you like to hear something?” She asked as the bow was elegantly maneuvered.

Vergil didn’t know much about musicians and composers; he only knew if one sounded good then it was good. He shook his head, “No, I don’t think I have anything in mind, mother.” He answered her with Dante on his lap. The toddler stared at their mother who put the violin on her shoulder. Readying the bow. She nudged the needle at the nearby record player (‘a phonograph’ she tended to insist) to play the piano sounds.

The start was slow, like a breath about to be released and Eva entered with her violin. The music reverberated throughout the drawing room. It swayed along their shadows, magnified by the dewy moon. Light showers began to fall as she played more. The tone felt somber yet flowed fittingly. A winding down for the night. Eva’s smile accompanied the performance, it was soothing. He wished he could join her. Alas his hands were never friendly with the keys at the grand piano sitting nearby. Dante rested on his stomach; head pillowed while he kept on looking at their mother.

Vergil gently brought his brother with him when it was late. They brushed their teeth and washed up though after they changed clothes, Eva came to their room and pulled them to hers. The music left a drowsiness that he didn’t think much when they all piled on her bed. It was huge compared to his, easily accommodating. Dante slept between the two. Already off to dreamland. Vergil subsequently followed suit after blearily checking if the medicine and water jug were there on the nightstand. He felt his mother’s kiss on him before settling down.

The halfling was used with sleeping alone, already did ever since he felt he was old enough. Brave enough to be left alone in the dark. Yet he scooted closer to Eva, abruptly missing her presence from when he couldn’t even close his eyes if she wasn’t there. He put his hand over hers which was placed on his brother. Having few chores to do and the lessened load, Vergil noticed how his skin had eventually turned soft. It was subtle, but there. He tightened his hold as he too welcomed slumber.

It had been a nice week, he whispered privately in his mind, it was truly nice. There was a muted tilt of lips as the night’s silence serenaded his rest.

\---

There was a noise that woke him up at dawn.

It was constant but his mother and his brother didn’t seem disturbed. Not showing any signs of hearing anything at all. He wasn’t going to wake them for this, so he shrugged and went back to lay down. The noise was there still, gradually resounding more and more. His movements jostled Dante and when his brother started to make a sound, Eva was thereafter roused also.

“Vergil?” She asked. “What is wrong, dear?”

“Nothing, mother,” he shook his head. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.” He said and made to head towards it.

The noise started to become stridently dissonant as the day turned brighter. He shook his head, splashing his face with an especially cold water, and dressed for the day. The ringing turned intense as he picked his clothes from the wardrobe, making him halted every few seconds lest he got a headache. When the buttons were finally done, the boy was late to catch up with his family at the dining room. He looked around, suspicious as he heard the noise less when he stepped into the hall. There was no instrument, music box or any sort of machinery that could make the specific tone that kept on rattling his head in his bedroom.

And he then figured out the culprit.

It was Yamato.

She thrilled when he partly pulled the drape. Seemingly noticing how her master heard her. But Vergil frowned, not understanding any of her voice as it had been quite a while when they had ignored each other. They comprehended nothing, a gap between their connection. A crevice more likely. Yamato had always made strange sounds, but Vergil couldn’t find that distinct note now. Garbles and foreign to his ears.

“If you only want attention, stop it,” he said. Putting his palms on the glass. “I don’t get what you’re saying here. Just stop it,” the boy huffed and returned the drape fully once more.

Yamato let out a high pitch that he winced though she settled down after. Sulkily. He supposed it was good enough, he didn’t need her to rain on the parade that hadn’t even started yet. The day that was only beginning. He glanced in warning one last time before closing the door shut.

The distant sonorous started again when he was cutting at his bread. The knife almost nicked his finger.

“Careful, dear! Are you still sleepy?” Eva asked.

“No, mother. My hand just slipped,” he tried to chuckle. “Ah, Dante, stop picking the porridge with your fingers,” Vergil tutted and turned to his brother.

He busied with slathering jam and eating his sausage while making sure Dante held the spoon correctly. Avoiding showing his minute twitching and frowning at Yamato’s nuisance. It was breakfast and he intended to fully savor today from beginning to end. His sword just had to choose _this_ out of all those many days to become an utter _annoyance._ Was it a personal vendetta at being ignored? He thought the feeling was mutual.

Vergil returned after breakfast. Lashing out at the thin mental bond they still shared. He pressed at it hard, gritting his teeth. He didn’t need the reminder to resurface now, he didn’t need _anything_ that had to do with _him_ showed up even in the slivers today. The week had been going smoothly, the boy managed to push any specks of that feeling to the dusty recesses. Vergil didn’t want it to return now.

Yamato turned quiet again. Chastised and conceding. She felt docile, drawn back when he flared his bond to check. He nodded. Satisfied. Then he exited the room and headed to the garden. The plants needed watering, another thing which he compromised like the case with the dishes. It was helpful rain occurred periodically too. They didn’t look thirsty with how their leaves shone and the dirt adequately moist. The first months he tried to maintain them, he had ended up with fungus and pests. That had had been tiring, it was worth it though. The greenhouse was healthy. Filled with edible vegetables alongside his mother’s beloved flowers.

He was lowly humming when he noticed his brother sniffling.

Dante sat on a nearby picnic mat with both hands rubbing his face. Dante looked troubled. Shaking his head too fast that Vergil held him. His little brother whined. Babbling in distress while Vergil tried to feel his temperature. It was normal, his complexion was alright, and he couldn’t hear any troubled breathing except the heightened whimpering that threatened to turn into cries.

“What’s wrong, Dante?” Vergil worriedly asked. He rubbed his back, wondering if they needed to visit a doctor or look for a medicine. Dante cringed, tilting his head with teary eyes. He moved his hands to cover his ears, stubbornly hard despite Vergil’s effort.

It took few minutes before the older halfling understood.

_That insolent sword. How dare she!_

He brought Dante inside. A lullaby was murmured as he reached for the record player. There was a seldom used disc that played soft enough tunes that could calm a child like his brother. That strategy worked. His brother was nodding off, running out of energy with his small cries. No doubt even more so with a half empty stomach. Vergil held him while fuming inside. He left his brother safely on a pile of pillows on the floor before he charged back towards the glass case.

The bedroom door hit the wall loud. Cracking the paint. Vergil honed on Yamato.

“Why are you being so annoying?!” He ripped the drape off. Immediately, her shrill cry slammed him. It was grating. Scratching against his skull. “Quiet down!” The boy commanded.

The sword didn’t stop. He broke the lock and pulled her out. She was stabbing cold in his hold.

“Just shut up!” It was ignored. “You can’t hurt my brother, you stupid sword,” he gripped her harder. Yamato screeched. “Why are you doing this?! You’re ruining everything. Just shut up already!”

She was louder. More prevalent that his demon flinched when she reached out. It growled and so did Vergil. “Yamato! Be quiet!” But his sword didn’t listen, she turned cacophonous. Crackling, rattling, and shrieking. Worse than any of their past discourse. Worse than anything he ever heard.

“Shut the hell up!” He swung and her length broke the glass.

It didn’t satisfy him. The metal lining was hit. Hard. It bent weirdly when he was finished. Glass shards littered the floor. Sweats dampening his shirt and dripped down from his hair. The nearby bookshelf was a victim alongside some frames. Half of the bedroom was a shipwreck after his screaming and hitting his sword to every surface he saw.

Eva burst into the room. “Vergil?” She gasped at the carnage her son stood amongst. “Dear, what happened?” She held his face.

The tears were fought back into his eyes.

“I’m sorry, mother,” he started out hoarsely.

“Vergil, what is wrong?” His mother asked, glancing at the katana. It was thrown to the wall. “Is something the matter with Yamato?”

He snoorted and wiped his face. “She is being childish,” Vergil muttered. Looking away. “I don’t know what’s going on with her.”

There was a slight pang from the sword. The boy glared at her and she turned reticent.

“I’ll clean this up,” he stepped away from Eva. “I’ll get the broom.”

It was nothing but running away, Vergil didn’t want to admit it. His mother wouldn’t understand. He came back with the broom and doggedly ignored Eva’s questions. That wasn’t a good attitude though Vergil couldn’t bring himself to care. A few talks threatened his damn to break and his mother shouldn’t need to deal with his ugly frustration. The shards were collected inside a cardboard box along with the destroyed case.

Eva sighed at him. Leaning Yamato against the chair for the time being. She followed him outside.

“Dear, talk to me,” she stopped him by the shoulder. “Look at me.”

He reluctantly raised his head.

“What happened? You never reacted this way with Yamato,” Eva frowned. There was confusion in her eyes. Worry too in equal measure. Vergil hated it.

He shook his head. “She is being an idiot. Nothing more, mother,” he went on despite her tutting. “I’m sorry for the ruckus. I’ll fix them up.”

But Eva didn’t let him. “No, you need to calm down first, Vergil,” she said. Stern. “Take a deep breath and clear your head. You’re not going there before I believe you have collected yourself.”

Easy to say that. There was already tart sharpness broiling. The sun was overhead, meaning it was midday and he had spent half being completely irritated by his own stupid sword. The house walls seemed to want to box him in with Yamato. He didn’t want that. He didn’t to hear her voice. Didn’t want to look at her any longer. It was his birthday. Everything had gone well. Incredibly so. Yet of course, Sparda’s memento had to ruin that.

It was unfair.

“I’m going to the park,” he stated and turned away. Already heading fast to the gate. “I’ll be back soon!” He shouted over his shoulder as he took off.

Eva was late on grabbing him. Her son quick and nimble. He didn’t hear her calling. Gaining wide distances in mere minutes. She gave up shouting his name when the boy didn’t look back. His figure becoming farther and farther away.

The halfling kept on going. Only when he reached the small riverbank did he skidded to a stop. Plopping down on the rough grass. His chest heaved and he vigorously rubbed his eyes until the skin chafed.

Under the glaring sunlight, the boy punched the ground. 

\---

Vergil went deeper into the thin woods. Kicking stray rocks, snapping wood, and punching tree barks. His knuckles stung. The animals scurried away from him. Alarmed and scared. He threaded deeper. Running and stomping until his soles also hurt. He threw pebbles at random directions. Anything was fine as long as he kept moving. Grunting and sometimes, even yelling out.

The sun was leaning west when he reemerged. The sky had already been tinged orange with the soft pink that was too calm. He was tired. The exact opposite of the afternoon’s color palette.

He leaned against a tree, sliding down to stare nowhere.

It was getting late; he should be at the kitchen. Baking alongside his mother and Dante. That was supposed to be the plan. If only Yamato didn’t ruin it. He knew he shouldn’t have reacted like earlier. He knew that but it just wasn’t fair. He might be more lenient if Yamato just bothered him only. She pulled Dante into this mess though, and that wasn’t something he could take lightly. Yamato didn’t even clearly convey her message. Whatever her means were. He didn’t understand. Didn’t get her.

Why today did she elect to rear her presence?

The sword was fine with the silent treatment. She had started it first, after all.

This far, she couldn’t be heard. Granting him a measure of peace. That wouldn’t last when he returned home, though Yamato should have known to be silent now. After his outburst. She was supposed to be a smart weapon. And at the end, Vergil was still her master. He began to wonder if that actually ever amounted to anything. Highly likely he would never know. There were no notes of guidance. Just a selfish demon leaving him and Dante with swords, letting them peck in the dark.

This was all his fault. Even gone, he managed to ruin things.

Mother’s health declined right after he disappeared, Dante was left with only two family members, and Vergil had turned into a _servant_ rather than a son. This week managed to rekindle what it felt like to be his right age. What he should have been. What was supposed to be him. That was more than an indentured serf.

This wasn’t the life he was blessed with. He hated this.

“It’s all Sparda’s fault,” he declared. With full surety.

And pain ruptured in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I notice how much I write characters having sleeping or resting and having food... Hmm, am I projecting?  
> Please excuse that along with my effort to try to write children. I feel it has been ages since I was a wee lass. :D  
> The music Eva played is [Chopin Nocturne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSD9XHRxV3s)
> 
> This is the end of the first arc. Next chapter, please look forward for whole new one!
> 
> Comments and kudos are deeply appreciated.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

“On your left!”

Gunshots rang. Shrieks and squelching sounds enough to make normal people gagged echoed throughout the warehouse. The brick walls were peppered with holes, windows crashed, while the roof had already begun caving in.

“Any time now, Grue!”

They were running low on ammunitions, some elected to stand behind those who still able to rain bullets. Their clothes had long been dirtied, scratched with blood stained the fabrics. It felt hot and cold in the building. Today’s mission was longer than expected which currently wasn’t even halfway done. Many were tired, heaving under their hats and masks. Winter was harsh this time of the year. But every man had to fill his pocket one way or another.

“What’s taking your ass so long, Grue? Hurry up, we’re dead meat in less than five minutes!”

The man grunted. His hands struggled to set the cord right under the freezing winter. They were hurting bad though he refused gloves – those were only a hassle. He clicked his tongue when the wire slipped once more. At his nape, he sensed a monster had managed on breaking through their ranks.

“Fucking-” Grue held his arm up against the blood splatter.

His savior pierced him with a glare. “Do hurry, Grue or we won’t finish as planned.” The demon growled before its head was blasted by the gun.

“Easy for you to say, V,” he sighed. “You’re not the one who is tasked with setting up the bomb.”

That earned a raised brow from the teen. “Move,” he instructed, “Make sure none of those distract me.” The wires were snatched from Grue’s hand and the older man was pushed. “And aim for the vital parts to save bullets.”

“I’ve been a mercenary longer than you, kid,” Grue muttered as he picked his riffle. “Give us a signal when you’re done!” He shouted over his shoulder. The youth didn’t answer, already kneeling deep into the makeshift device. Hands moving faster than Grue’s with keener eyes.

Maybe it was his age or the sharp intelligence, but V managed to finish setting up the bomb in less than three minutes. They should assign him to the more difficult task in the future, Grue mused when V gave the sign. It might make a few disgruntled at the higher pay he would be getting but it could save them time and resource. Besides, V had been with them for almost two years now, it wouldn’t be that unfair. It all came down whether he would want to or not though, V was picky at times.

After the whole group went far away, foregoing grabbing any dropped loots on the way out, V pressed the button. The ground shook with the birds flying off the trees. The boom rattled their teeth and they all fell at the aftershock. Dusts floated around as the warehouse became no more. Debris and broken metal drenched in ichor and shredded demons. It smelled badly, stinks associated with dumpster, shit buckets and vomits. All cooked up with burnt flesh as the added topping. The unpleasantness proceeding the adrenaline high mercenaries like them had for a big mission. None wanted to walk further to the cars, tired and sweaty under the biting wind. Only the thought of some good meals and beers at Bobby’s cellar was enough of a motivation.

The men trudged along knee-high snows. Unlikely to be shoveled since the place was outside the city. Secluded in a forest. The job had not been what they expected, most were used to gunning down fellow humans and being bodyguards to just about anyone that hired them. Demons were low on their list, though this was an exception. The contractor was filthy rich, an underground person with ‘influence’ – the money got almost everyone in. That amount could be distributed evenly and by then, it would have surpluses.

Grue and the rest finally reached the parked vehicles. A slow half an hour wasted. He wondered if they could catch a few snoozes at the bar before resuming. He sniffed. Ah, screw the time, his legs were killing him and food with alcohol sounded heavenly. Everyone nodded in agreement when he voiced the suggestion, too hungry to think more. Grue reached for his keys, heading to the beaten car he rented, and as expected, the kid had arrived first.

“Shall we go?” V asked as Grue approached. He was leaning against the car door.

“Yeah, let’s return to the bar for now,” the man answered.

The car was drafty and not equipped with a proper heater. Grue rubbed his hands on the steering wheel as he periodically glanced at V. As per usual, the teen was the only one still standing strong. Amongst the hunched shoulders and muttered sighs, he stayed the same as ever.

Grue sometimes marveled at all that strength.

\---

There was blood. Lots of it. Making rivers, staining the ground dark.

Laughter. A shine of a blade. Or was it a scythe? Glinting and rammed through him.

There was blood. He tasted the iron. Bubbling in his mouth.

He called out. For something. He didn’t fully know. But it arrived in his hand and he moved.

There was blood. But they weren’t from him. Drenching him.

A shout. His legs ran. His hands tearing his clothes as they suffocated his movement.

The sky turned dark. Itself wanting to hide. The heat was savage. He couldn’t hear anything. Red and piercing orange filled his vision.

The house. His home. Mother. Dante.

They burned.

\---

The beer spilling woke him.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Grue grabbed a handful of tissues.

V shook his head, patting the wet spot on his sleeve with his own handkerchief. “No matter, it is only beer,” he said. A harmless spill that wouldn’t worsen his already stained coat. He put away the handkerchief and looked to the clock. The only working one in the dive bar – cracked with dusts accumulating on the glass. “Are we going as planned?”

Grue took a huge chug before he answered, “Well, we’ll be a bit late. Around half an hour, considering how the guys are doing now,” the man pointed at him. “And no, don’t you dare go off on your own, we have all agreed that we are doing this as a group. You going off earlier than us will only sour the mood more.”

The teen sighed as he picked up his firearms. “I wasn’t about to do such,” V said while he disassembled them, “what a low faith you have in me, Grue.”

“Oh no, I don’t, but the others are still a bit touchy about you, you know,” the older man sipped his half-empty beer, “You don’t exactly are buddy-buddy with everyone.”

“I am on a relatively good terms with you though,” V said. His hands were nimble, stained with the oil grease from the cloth.

“Yeah, well, it isn’t enough for them,” Grue shrugged. “Doesn’t help that you beat them with the drinking contest. You’re sucking their wallets dry.”

The teen was not the stockiest and definitely wasn’t the tallest (yet), though V never lost – both in the drinking and the fighting. It was almost uncanny seeing such a young person, practically still a child in the mercenaries’ eyes, handled alcohol and killing. Some men just didn’t know how to take this.

V didn’t care, and that level of nonchalance was something that Grue was riveted with.

They fell into comfortable silence until someone called Grue. “What is it?” He asked. V didn’t look up from his weapon’s maintenance. Back turned at Stephen who approached them. “Is everyone ready?” Grue asked him.

“No, no, a couple of our men are still bandaging themselves, while another is on an errand to get more ammo. I’m just here to tell you that the newcomer is arriving this evening.” Stephen crossed his arms, “Said something about being late because of the snowstorm.”

“I expected much,” Grue rubbed his head, “I thought we could test him out and for the extra support, but I guess we’ll just have to make do with the usual.”

“You bet,” Stephen said and looked at V. “Seems like we’re going to be ready in another hour, so why don’t we grab something to eat, V? Even a golden boy like you goes hungry one of these days.”

V glanced over his shoulder, “Maybe, I’ll think about it,” and went back to his cleaning. Stephen huffed, chuckled, and saluted to Grue before returning to his own table.

“You could be more friendly,” Grue whispered, “he’s just trying to be nice.”

“I’ll pretend you are only being kind here,” V said as he re-assembled the firearms. Starting with his semi first then the revolver. The latter needed careful putting its components back to produce the right clicking sound when he checked the barrels. His rifle was slung around his chair.

Grue half-raised his hand, “Alright, fine, you got me,” he finished his beer, “you really have a keen eye, V.”

The teen inserted the magazine, “Isn’t that part of the job?” He asked. Rhetorical, of course.

“True, but you are still a sharp one,” the man leaned against the table. “A mercenary like you is rare.”

“You’re also one, Grue,” V levelled him a stare. “A skilled mercenary, I mean.”

The man laughed, short and hoarse before he got up. “Thank you for that, almost everyone here keeps on commenting about my age, so having such a praise is a breath of fresh air,” he gestured. “I’m going to grab some food; do you want some?”

“Just the usual,” V answered him. “And put them on my tab, I don’t mind.”

Grue nodded and made to talk with the barkeep. They were close, a perk of being permanent patrons that meant better meals. Not to mention fast service. The full and hearty tray was ready in a blink of an eye and Grue took it. He sloppily set it on their table, ignoring V’s minute frown at the spilled gravy. They then dug in, neither wanting to talk with their mouths full and graced with rich tastes.

Through it all, the man known as Stephen clicked his tongue while he watched them periodically. But he sipped his drink, letting the bitter alcohol washed it, and swallowed them all down to oblivion.

\---

The difference between tired and renewed vigour in people who called themselves mercenaries were sufficed to say as astounding. Now that they had rested, eaten, and stocked full of ammunitions, the job went smoother than the early morning one. The sheer excitement and adrenaline were on a ten-fold scale, each who held a gun or a rifle having fun by obliterating the demons coming their way. It helped that these were much lower classes, and the group had an advantage by being able to sneak up on them. The place had been a church, hallways and pews helped shrouding their movements before sharp noses smelled them. By that point, the men already threw flash and smoke bombs.

Grue inserted another magazine as he kicked a weird scaly dog in the nose, giving it a loving headshot after. Its tongue lolled with the eye blasted from the socket, it made a grotesque sound. He huffed, wiping away sweat while looking on to the rest. They were finishing up, the whole battle finished in less than an hour. Currently, Rob and Neil were hefting flamethrowers – burning the slimy nests which had accumulated. The blobs that V said to be eggs popped like bubbles, giving away yellowy substances while others melted like waxes. The clergies would have a field day with cleaning this mess, but their contractor didn’t particularly ask them for cleaning duty. Not on paper meant none of their business.

He stretched his back, feeling his tired bones before looking up at the balconies. V’s rifle was already retracted from the edge with the teen walking away. Grue passed the others to reach the stairs, clapping Stephen’s shoulder when he neared him.

“I think Mike needs some help over there,” he pointed at the young man who unfortunately decided to tinker the nest with his hand rather than the flamethrower.

Stephen looked on and sighed, changing his direction towards the yelling brunette. Grue gave him a shrug with a smile as he trudged upstairs. The wooden steps were damp, creaking under his weight, and he had no want to stand longer than needed. It was a telling sign how long this once grand church had been abandoned. There was no doubt it was no longer a sacred ground anymore. A heavy purification and a high-quality holy water would be needed if the contractor actually cared about this place, which Grue doubted. The man hiring them seemed more concerned about his money going to waste when he realized the demons wouldn’t leave the church alone. Something with keeping his religious image intact for being a patron.

A shame that was. Grue might not be artistic or have the knowledge of great architectural masters within his tiny brain, but he could appreciate beauty when it was prominent. The stained-glass windows filtered colourful winter light on the marble floor, the statutes of saints and angels still retained their sacred image, and the overall rooms had withstood much abuse from the demons’ general mess.

He dragged his hand along the stone wall until he reached a room with shelves. The mahogany door was no more than scattered chips and there was a fungal stench. A pile of soggy books was on a corner with other piles thoroughly submerged in whatever nasty shits those demons produced. The light through the opened windows provided enough for him to see the vast room. And to notice V standing near one high shelf.

“Anything interesting?” Grue asked.

V put a scroll back, “No,” he answered, “For a former prestigious church, they have a small library.”

“ _This_ is small?” The older man gestured at the expanse. “How many libraries have you visited, V?”

“Enough to know the difference,” he answered, sidestepping the rotting piles of pages with a frown on his way out.

Grue followed, not wanting to stay longer in the room filled with dust and wet god-knows-what, even the magnificence of the fresco and painting inside couldn’t make him. He sniffed into his sleeve, “You really ae a full-package,” he said to V. “Intelligence and brawn. Good thing too, otherwise you’d be a nerdy bookworm everybody could pick on.”

That received an amused raised brow. “Is it now?” V mused, “I wonder if you lot could even stand in a scholarly circle.”

“Ouch,” Grue chuckled. “Come one, I think we’re done now. Do you need a ride back?”

He watched V fixed his scarf and putting his hand in his pocket before replying, “Do we pass the main street?” At Grue’s nod, he then nodded, “Alright, I’ll take your offer until the main junction. You could drop me off there.”

“Not wanting to return straight to the bar?” Grue commented as they joined the group filing out of the church. Leaving behind empty casings, demon corpses, and fire embers. “You’re going to miss the money distribution.”

V crossed his arms, “I trust that you will hold on to my share fairly,” he said. “And if you or someone else don’t-”

“There will be regrets. I know, I know,” Grue waved him away. “I’m not that type of man, V. I think you know that.”

Blue eyes fixed on him. Icy and mature.

“I know, Grue,” the teen settled his rifle more to his back, “I know.”

\---

V sat so still like the dead, only his moving chest and the minute face twitching signified him being alive. The car seats were hard, the leather long worn while the engine made such clamour whenever Grue changed gears. He reminded himself to never rent from that shady shop ever again. It was merciful to his expense but under harsh conditions, the chance of being stranded was high. It wouldn’t do having a broken-down car during fog and storms which made visibility almost non-existent. Luckily, they reached the town once more without any trouble despite the less than stellar vehicle.

The wind was dying down, making more people brave enough to walk outside through snow, both fresh and old that had started to turn into slushes with the dirt. The clouds dimmed the day, grey dominating the space. It subdued any liveliness that even children seemed sombre than usual. Grue stopped the car near a sidewalk.

“V, we’re here,” he turned to the teen.

In a second, he opened his eyes. “I see,” the car door was then pushed open, “Thank you, Grue. I’ll see you later then.”

“I’m not going anywhere, V. So just meet me at the usual table, alright?” Grue waved.

The white backdrop made the youth paler, swathed in dark blue from neck to toe that they obfuscated his presence. A spectre amongst the pedestrians. After a quick nod from V, he closed the door once more. The teen stood by until the car was no longer visible as Grue turned right at another junction. With the noise gone, the street became quiet aside the tip-tap of shoes. V blew his hands, rubbing them together before heading to a shop.

The small bell tinkled joyfully as V entered.

“Welcome,” wrote the gentleman behind the desk. “The usual?” He wrote again on the board.

“Yes, please,” V said and slid a bank note.

The clerk disappeared behind rows and rows of pots. Each with different bouquets, different flower arrangements, and different slipped notes hidden between stems. It was a myriad of intentions and means that surrounded V as he waited. The shop was small, warm enough for him to shed his scarf and gloves. There were people who turned their heads when they passed by. Interested and impressed by the specks of colours the plants provided to the eyes. A small child was poking the daffodils placed outside when his order was placed on the counter. Roses, chrysanthemums, and hyacinth were grouped together, then carefully wrapped with paper and a ribbon. V rested the posy in the crook of his arm.

“Do you ever consider preserving one or two of them?” The man scrawled. “I have a new service that can do that. You get a discount since you’re a loyal customer here,” he grinned as he wrote on.

V stared at the white board. Contemplating. “I’ll put that in mind,” he said and swiftly walked out after. As the teen put on his scarf again, he saw the man waved him goodbye.

The flowers could withstand the cold for some time but not the gust, thus V weighted them with a brick when he knelt by the grave. The tombstone was without cracks, no vines grew on it, no weeds seen around. It was one of the few resting places that still were taken care of. Only a name was etched onto the marmoreal surface. The priest had had looked confused at his choice. That and the empty casket. He had nothing else to say though when V gave him a small pouch that weighted generously.

The cemetery was barren. There were only him and the groundskeeper, smoking in his shed with nothing to do. V was far enough from the man’s nosiness and he doubted his eyesight was helping. The tree also helped in obscuring him and the grave. With ease, he lowered himself more in his kneeling so that both his knees touched the ground. The cold seeped slowly through his pants yet V was used to it. He took a deep breath, relishing the crisp air into his lungs.

“Hello, mother. It has been a while.”

\---

It was bright. Powerfully so on his eyes.

The cracking sounds were hard to differentiate. His bones or the house?

Something dripped onto the ground. Wet and cold and warm.

He was far away now. Seeing the scenery as if suspended on a fog.

An island where only he stood. Exposed yet unmarred.

It never changed, what was in front of him.

The house. His home. Mother. Dante.

They burned.

\---

“Excuse me, young man, the cemetery’s closed,” the gravelly voice spoke.

V’s head turned towards the groundskeeper. “Isn’t it too early?” He asked, patting off the snow from him.

“Yeah, but winter means less daylight, and no one visits during these cold days anyway,” the hunched man answered. “Have no choice but to close earlier. I don’t want to stay longer than necessary,” he said as he led V to the gate.

“I suppose so,” the teen said and casted a glance over his shoulder to the tombstones. “It’s empty already.”

“Look, young man,” the man lit up his nth cigarette, “I know a few places where you can rest up. Not the top quality in terms of service, but they’ll do you good. Folks like you need to stay warm if wanting to make it through the season. Better little rooms than these lonely graves after all.”

“No need for that,” V said with his hand held up when the man reached into his pocket. “Appreciate the offer, but I’ll be off now. A good day to you.” He walked away with a quick pace, burrowing his nose into his scarf, and made to head for the alleys. Cutting off any more conversation. The man could keep his ‘list’ to himself. He seemed to need it more than the teen.

V sniffed his coat, sighing in relief when his clothes didn’t catch any errant smoke. A locomotive like the groundskeeper wouldn’t care even when he drilled holes into the tens of packs that bloated his threadbare coat’s pocket. Tobacco disgusted him – the foulness and the tar that clogged the system a constant reminder of the foolish ones who used such a thing. But he could understand the reason why so many loved it. Especially in a city such as this. He avoided drunk men slipping on ice, clicking his tongue when some youngsters laughing like hyenas with syringes scattered about, and slipped away from those eyeing him up to down. The alleys were shortcuts to reach the bar, he had long given up trying to search for a more savoury route. This was unfortunately the fastest.

The sign greeted him soon. As worn down as it always was. There wasn’t anyone around named Bobby anymore, the man had long been dead. ‘Shot’, he heard others said, ‘kind of deserving by way he kept on being testy with a drunkard who had a gun’. The door’s glass may be frosted over, but V already knew there was the usual game of drinking the mercenaries had by the moving shadows. Also, the rambunctious off-sounding music was a dead giveaway. He sighed, running his hand through his hair, then with a push, he opened the oak door.

“Hey, V, you arrive, finally!” Grue grinned over his beer. “The guys are having celebration with the windfall,” he pointed to the big gathering to their right. Dennis, John, and Mike were wearing their tanks and jeans. No coat in sight and their faces started turning red.

“I can see that,” V said as he pulled a chair. He didn’t spend any more words when he fixed Grue with his stare. The older man dug into his blazer, sliding the thick envelope across which V smoothly caught.

“I hope with whatever money in there, you won’t double down on my price. Again,” a voice said behind him.

V put the envelope down. “I don’t think I’m that severe, Nell,” he wrinkled his nose when she took a seat at the table. “And also, could you-”

The woman blew the smoke the other way, “See? The smoke ain’t touching you, kid. Relax,” she waved him away, “You are as prissy as usual, V.”

“Oh, give him a break, Nell,” Grue chuckled, “He just wants to keep himself healthy. Trying to live better and longer in this line of work is commendable.”

Nell Goldstein took a deep inhale from her cigarette and put it on the ashtray. “Enough of that,” she said as she held her palm open at V, “where are they? Let me see, I know you have broken the trigger again.”

“I did not,” V defended.

To which Nell snorted, “Oh, look, I already found dents here and there,” she commented while turning over the guns, “Scratches too. And your cleaning is still bad, do you think you can hide these destructions you made by it?” The woman shook her head, “Just how much force you exerted to this? The barrels are even a bit bent. Not to mention, the triggers! This is the fourth time you almost destroyed my guns with just your trigger fingers.”

Dennis and Mike were the last standing competitors, guzzling down beer straight from the barrels to win the stacked money on the wet table. John was down for the count, slumping against some chairs with towel on his face. The others only gave him light pats before resuming their cheers and bets. All the while the barkeeper yelling to not make further mess which was ignored. Stephen was leaning on a pillar, a whiskey glass in hand, and V avoided his eyes religiously.

“Kid, you’re listening?” Nell clicked her fingers. “I’m going to charge you double with all these you did,” she crossed her arms. “Ah, this is why I don’t do much gunsmithing anymore,” she muttered. Hands caressing the revolver and semi slowly.

V eyed the firearms with his hand tapping on the table before he finally shrugged. “Alright, I’m not going to bargain for the price this time,” he said. “The damages this time are extensive for a reduced price, so I’ll pay your fare.”

At that, Nell seemed to look marginally satisfied. “Good, you understand that much,” she nodded. “Meet me tomorrow then, at the shop for the business.”

“The usual, correct?”

“The usual.”

They shook hands after. Sealing the deal.

Grue crossed his legs and leaned back further into his chair. “Seriously, V, if you don’t want to spend much on Nell’s guns, why don’t you bring your sword every time? Save a lot of your money like that, no?”

“It’s not for everyday use,” V said. Succinct and short.

When he didn’t extrapolate further, Grue rubbed his head. “Alright, alright, have it your way. It’s just weird though, you have good grip on it. Even better than shooting in my opinion. Kind of useless not having that during jobs, you know.”

“I’m managing just fine, Grue,” V replied. “Speaking of jobs, didn’t you mention something about a newcomer arriving?”

“Oh yeah, I did. He is supposed to be here any time now, it’s almost evening,” Grue glanced at the clock. “He sounds mysterious, like you when you first came here, V.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Grue took the proffered cigarette from Nell, nodding his thanks. “Well,” he turned his lighter, “it’s just a feeling,” he smiled apologetically at V’s frown. The man was no chain-smoker, and definitely wasn’t as bad as Nell or even the rest, but he wouldn’t say no for a free one.

The door creaked open. Letting the gust of biting chill and snowflakes in after the figure. The bandaged head, hands, and everything caught everyone’s eyes. Even V’s. He rested his opened book on his thigh as the person walked over to their table.

“And speak of the devil,” he tapped the ash to the floor, “there he is.” Grue gave him a pleasant smile, already extending his hand. “Welcome, hope your journey here has been pleasant?”

The hand shook his, firm and sharp. “Fortunately, yes. Besides the snow that is.”

“Well, that’s just the city, pal,” Grue said. “Alright, now that you here and wanting to join, there’s one ritual you have to do.”

“A ritual?”

“He means drinking contest,” V answered. The man’s red eyes shifted to him. “It’s the thing we do around here. Drink until you win. The loser will have to pay for everyone, that includes even the ones before your arrival.”

“Interesting,” the person hummed. V noticed his hand around the sword. A katana to be exact. “Alright then, formality needs to be done. But who will I go against?” He said as he looked around.

Most of the mercenaries were either on the floor or groaning at the toilets. Those who could stand were apprehensive, stepping away from the bar and beer barrels. There were a few minutes of deliberation before V sighing as he stood up. Grue patted him on the shoulder and Nell raised her brow. It seemed he was the last viable person around.

“Your opponent will be me,” V said, taking his place on a stool at the bar. The barkeep already had two tall glasses. By the smell of it, he had served them the cheapest brew. Typical when it came to this. “What’s your name? I think we need to know each other’s name in the least.”

The bandaged man sat himself one stool away. V eyed his katana that was tied at his waist. An average looking one, with dark sheath and hilt. Shorter. A hand held the other glass, tilting it here and there. The foam dripped a little, dampening the bandages. The man tilted his head, seemingly studying the content of the alcohol before putting it back.

V watched the wrappings around his face curiously staying still and tight. “Gilver,” he told him, “the name is Gilver.”

“Well, Gilver,” the teen raised his glass, “May the best man win.”

And with that, bottom’s up.

\---

The weather was merciful for once when evening rolled in. The streets were already empty aside the usual night folks in search of entertainment and sweaty mosh pits. V walked with a satisfied gait, his pocket lining up nicely. The added thickness was never unwelcomed.

“You sure you’re going to be fine?” Stephen had asked as he grabbed his coat.

It was Grue who cut that conversation short. “He is still coherent and livelier than the poor guy, I think V is still sober. I’m more pitying that newbie,” he nodded at the slumped figure. Gilver had had tried to keep up but ultimately, there was just no one that could defeat V. Not when the teen was competitive with a price on the line. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then, right, V?” He asked to his shoulder.

V only gave him a confirming nod before he reached the door. He didn’t see Stephen shaking his head, hand on hip before bidding V farewell also. He trudged through snow piles, his boots a good quality leather enough to stop his pants from further getting soaked. The lingering alcohol was on his tongue and in his breath, V stopped by a small candy shop for some gums. The owner was a gangly person who also had a newspaper stand, though you should never rely on the dates, moreover the quality. V bought a generic candy brand, the most common one since its colour was convincing – trusted enough for the regular ingredients rather than the more ‘recreational’ ones.

Mint washed over his taste buds. A better change of smell and taste. He went through two strips as he traversed through the park. It was the few things the city actually maintained, being the only attraction had. The trees loomed over the beaten paths with streetlamps dotting them and the lakeside. A third and fourth gum packages were devoured as he discarded the emptied ones to a nearby bin. He wanted the booze unpleasantness gone before he reached the apartment complex at the other side of the park. Gilver was admittedly a tough one, he knew the man couldn’t handle more yet was too hard to stop. If it was something different, one that had nothing to do with drinks and raucous surrounding, he might have been impressed. The katana seemed perfectly well taken care of and the way it was held in his hand spoke volumes. Alas it hadn’t been the case, still though it meant an extra income as the others made bets and him not having to pay for the egregious amounts of drinks that abused kidneys.

The brick building had most of its windows closed and curtains drawn. V could hear clattering of plates from one flat while another had a piano being played, passable enough that he didn’t grimace. The walls were by no means thins though this spelled differently with him in spite of. He rounded the corner, procuring a key and opened the tall door. Dim lights greeted him, giving enough ambience that cut the connection with the outside with its dirty streets and slumps peppering few parts of the park especially, to now the elegant marble floor and mahogany furniture. He saw a little girl peeking through the railings on the second floor as he called the elevator, an ancient thing that could only load two people. The box brought him upwards, the girl’s eyes following him and gone as she retreated at her parent’s call. V saw the gloves and the cane.

He slid the door open, switching off the elevator’s bulb before he walked through a hallway. The double doors had iron-wrought gates, vines and leaves as the design. The locks clicking open echoed the empty hall, him turning another key then entering in one swoop. This time, rather than marble and small lamps, he was greeted with the soft pad of carpet and warm light from the hearth. V extended his hand, touching a dark crystal statue behind the drape and gave a small pulse. Yamato showed herself, reverberating with him as she returned to her original form. Floating into his hand. Welcoming him home sweetly.

“Vergil!”

A bundle zoomed into him. Bumping his stomach with all the excitement.

“Hello, there, Dante,” he grunted. “I see you are doing nicely with the sheets,” his hand peeled a layer off.

A tuft of white hair and a huge grin greeted him. “Don’t worry, I already done most of them. These are just mine,” Dante pulled away. “So, you’re home! Come on, let’s get you out of this wet coat. I’m so hungry already, you’re kind of late today,” he said and had started to pull at Vergil’s clothes. “I almost wanted to eat the food without you, you know. One more minute and I would!”

With Dante’s incessant prodding, he managed to change in record time before being dragged to the table. His brother looked smug, puffing his chest and gestured at the plates. “Tada! I told you I can make it, pasta and pies are easy,” he said and plopped down onto a chair.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t make it,” the teen sighed as he put a cloth over his brother’s thighs, “I just meant you should watch out for the oven and stove.”

The younger child gave him a look, “I told you I’m already good at it! I never repeat that mistake again, right?” He pouted. The piece of mushroom was stabbed a bit harsh. “You’re a worry-wart sometimes, Verg.”

“Whatever you say, little brother,” and when Dante was giving him another look, he added, “Enough. You said that you’re hungry, so let’s eat. The food is getting cold.”

The ham and vegetables were soft, the spaghetti perfectly cooked, and Vergil hummed when he tasted the savoury pie. His brother was getting better, both in making dishes and not turning the kitchen into an apocalypse. He had almost forbidden him from even remotely entering when he burned his hands on the metal stove, then in his surprise had then unknowingly pressed his arms near the oven. Dinner that day was unpleasant to sum it all up.

“Did you give Amelia your drawing?” Vergil asked after bites.

“Uhm, she liked the one with the crayons, so I gave it to her. I don’t think it’s good, but she said it was pretty as a postcard,” Dante tilted his head and swung his legs. “Did you see it?”

It was taped on her cane. A picture of flowers – roses and peonies that were too distinct to miss. Vergil told him as such. Then after several more bites to dessert, Dante asked, “Did you get a lot of bad monsters today?”

“Quiet a lot,” he answered. “We had the whole day. There were many of them that we needed to split the work in the morning and then afternoon.”

“Whoa, no wonder you look like a mess,” Dante said. “Are you tired too? I can wash the plates on my own. You should sleep, it’s good for you.” He had looked wide-eyed then yelped as his hair was ruffled. “Ah, no, not the hair!” The child pouted as he batted his brother’s hand away to no avail. “Stop! You’re just as mean as Yamato!”

His sword adored Dante but she teased him often. A small shrill, a jolt or a particularly high notes when the child poked at her statue. He couldn’t understand her, still too young and with a sleeping demon. Yamato sighed when he only looked on questioningly sometimes as the one which was tasked to guard when her master wasn’t around.

“You should get her out,” Dante said when he finally managed to get away. “She sounds like she needs it.”

“Oh? And how do you know?”

“Because she’s meaner this week! Almost like you when you are bored,” he answered while shooting glares at the sword. “Please get her out because she’s getting annoying to me and isn’t she a great sword? She’ll help you catch more monsters then!”

Demons was the alternative word, something that had been taught to him and drilled into his head. His older brother didn’t shy away from such topics, putting him in the know with a warning that he should never say such things when he was playing with the others. It was a big thing that was too important that it had to be a secret, his brother had said. Boring his eyes into him and voice severe, a rarity that Dante didn’t like much. But his brother always looked out for him, so it meant that he needed to take this seriously, since there were bad things out there. Things that could hurt and ripped him away. His brother was warm, soft, and strong. Dante never wanted to part from him, he would be alone and scared. It sounded scary.

“Maybe tomorrow then. You’re going to stay at Nell after all,” he hummed.

At the mention of the gunsmith, Dante jumped. “Yes! I like Nell, she’s cool. Oh, can we visit the bakery tomorrow? After you’re done? Pleaseee,” he put his hands together.

“Only if you promise to not shoot another gun without her supervising,”

“Deal!”

Yamato thrummed under his fingers, noticeable enough with her thrills amongst Dante’s own cheers. Her master had her leaned against the table, always close by and in reach. She was elated from the restlessness after days of stagnancy, had been relegated into a rigidity that she exuded her eagerness in spades, that same desire shared between her and her master ever since that day. That call and demand for their foes’ life force drenching her. That specific edge to fell their enemies. Yamato was brimming with impatience, enough so that Vergil tamped their bloodlust down or else it bled out. The half-demon wouldn’t have even a speck of his nature remotely visible on his face.

Dante was easy to distract, Vergil pushed his small plate towards his brother. An extra dessert just for him. He quickly gave him a smile and gathered the cake alongside his sweet pie. Vergil only gave him a tilt of his lips before caressing Yamato’s hilt to calm themselves down. His little brother didn’t need knowing, he thought as he dabbed his mouth after noticing how still clumsy he could be when excited with his sweets, Dante shouldn’t have to. His brother let him wipe his cheek also, giving him a grin when he tutted at the chocolate smears, the canines a bit more prominent. One of few things that set them apart. Traits that wouldn’t exist if not for their special status.

But not yet, it was too early, and maybe that was unfair as Vergil had discovered his heritage even younger than Dante. But no, not yet, he should have a better life, a better childhood than him. It sounded selfish, Vergil thought it was justified. Dante should stay as he currently was for a little while longer. A little more.

Later, Vergil had promised in the dark when everything was silent, later he would tell him when it was appropriate. For now, he wouldn’t destroy the innocence and let his brother laughed, cried, and played with that envied blissful ignorance.

_(Sometimes though, when his chest constricted and he suffocated enough that he jolted, sometimes he wished his little brother would stay the same forever.)_

\---

The library was like a light tower in the grim winter night yet whose underbelly Vergil favoured more. He browsed through the metal shelves, less appealingly placed in favour of rigid administration rather than what were placed upstairs. A card hung from his neck; the librarian had long been especially familiar with his presence. That and some stimulus. There was always something that needed smoothing up. A century old book there, a yellowed scroll here. Money was truly a wonderful weapon if utilized correctly.

Today’s amount would be different, unfortunately. A thinner stack was slipped between a book onto the trolley along with the card as he passed by. It was still more amount than the meagre pay-check the young college student had that she didn’t so much as raising her brow. Not wanting to bite the generosity. She pocketed the money, looking back and forth, left to right, before heading to the main desk. The petite girl quickly deleted the log, erasing her card’s use into the restricted section. A practiced movement by this point.

Vergil crumpled a paper. It had been kept in his pocket, ripped away from one of the books at the church. He had thought it would be useful, the ancient reference convincing. At the end, it had meant nothing, just another set of collection that didn’t give him anything aside from the things he had already long known. That church had been nothing but a glorified monument of a rich man’s religious face. Despite its seemingly old and grand façade, it didn’t store precious knowledge – it was frankly disappointing. In the least, they had been paid well if he wanted to be a bit light. Enough so that he didn’t earn more side-eyes when the rest of the mercenaries were receiving a huge windfall.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead as he walked upstairs to the second floor. The public area. The disappointment of a false lead was familiar yet still unpleasant. A tiringly bitter spot that bloomed. His feet took him to the poetry section. There were several new ones he noticed; an interesting, annotated version of his favourite author wedged between. He was not one for reading things with remarks outside of the original authors themselves or their closest circle, yet this looked to be able to provide mild entertainment. He picked it up, the leatherbound book that had seen its better days. The library was never one to turn away donations.

Another librarian listed his lending period. Face framed with heavy glasses and hair a greyer shade than his, she had all the homely appearance of a good and honest person – a person that Vergil had crossed off in favour of the younger one. She wouldn’t do with under the table business and small chances for more income. A breath of fresh air when he wasn’t under personal business coming here. A glimmer of kindness that he could appreciate from afar.

“Will this be the only one?” The woman asked. Her hands had already slipped the lending card at the back of the book, then without preamble, also slipping in those small bookmarks which she bought herself.

Vergil nodded, signing his name with the curvature ‘V’. Like always.

“Well, enjoy the book, and honey, the storm is going to pick up soon so be careful alright,” the elderly gave the book to him. “It won’t do to slip on ice or getting lost in this time of the hour.”

“It will be fine. Good evening, ma’am,” he said and made to walk when calloused hand pinched his sleeve. He turned, looking down on the fingers gripping the fabric. “Is there something else?”

The eyes that looked at him were clear despite the many folds surrounding them. A stormy green that maintained itself by being cocooned inside this weathered building. “Apologize for assuming this, dear, but I can’t help to notice. Please take better care of yourself, you seem to not have a good rest lately, it’s prominent that these old eyes of mine can see it.”

It was not malicious, never intended to be judgemental for Vergil sensed nothing rude from her tone. It a true concern, its distinct brand of worry that was rare. He just thought it was fascinating how sharp she was. The librarian breathed a relief when he accepted her advice, bidding her another good evening before he once more walked down the poorly lit streets. The book snug deeply in his inner pocket. He touched his face, on that spot under the eye, and rubbed at it absently. Kept doing it until he reached his abode once more. The halls were silent, evened breathes filtering through closed doors and Vergil elected the stairs to not break the stillness.

Dante had already been put to sleep before he went out, curling into the empty spot he left. Yamato returned to be a sentinel; an obsidian crystal hidden under a drape by the main door. Vergil finally dismissed her of that duty. The sword returning, sheathed in his hand then placed at the bedside. His little brother didn’t wake as he divested his attire on the nearby chair, exchanging dress pants and shirt for a soft night clothe. The comforter on Dante’s bed was fixed so it covered him more from the relative low temperature. After that, Vergil put away his half of the amulet on the small table, huffing when he noticed Dante had somehow held it to sleep.

The moon shone on his bed, more immaculate and barer compared to his brother’s. Vergil rested his head on them, staring at the translucent slivers peeking though the curtains. His breathes came in measured in the quietness of it all.

\---

His feet hurt. His arms weighed down.

There were sounds that deafened him. Voices too insidious at heart.

The ground wanted to swallow him. He refused.

Live, he wanted to live. A shadow and a blink later, he was in a strange place.

It was foreign (familiar), like a drink he had been refusing to swallow.

He took it, nevertheless. Yet he was slow, much so.

The house. His home. Mother. Dante.

They burned.

\---

Dante wriggled under the heavy comforters, face scrunching until it smoothed over once more. Peacefully comfortable. A few stray locks were lightly brushed away, Vergil’s hand a ghost on skin. In this hour, the moon was high in the sky, bathing everything in its shade except Dante.

The older halfling’s bed was empty, its occupant hovering over the sleeping child. Silent, wading, and hushed wraith – eyes glistening.

And only when the lead on his bones threatened a collapse did he retreated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of a new arc - I don't have the light novels at hand, pity that, I'd like to see what Dante was up to :'D  
> Unrelated but there was a snowstorm around and now snow piles are around, it is a fun to frolic and roll around the snow. Stress reliever if you tell me. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are deeply appreciated.  
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


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